Eclipse

Chapter 12

Come Clean

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Harry's foot went clear through the surface of the earth.

And it didn't stop. His stomach gave a terrible lurch as he began to fall. He tried to twist around in place, and he caught a glimpse of Draco's terrified expression just before the ground completely gave way beneath him.

**********

"HARRY!" Draco felt his heart seize up in his chest, and the air around him suddenly seemed much colder. The earth had simply collapsed under Harry, and he had disappeared without a trace. There had been a yelp of surprise, then silence. Silence which pressed on Draco's eardrums painfully - silence which squeezed in on his already tight chest, threatening to suffocate him.

"HARRY!" The strange landscape seemed to muffle his voice, and swallow the words as surely as it had swallowed Harry. Draco took a tentative step towards the gaping hole ahead of him, but the surface sank several inches underneath his weight, and he quickly stepped back again.

"Can you hear me? Say something! Are you okay?"

Draco stood perfectly still, listening for a response. Anything. He heard something! Faint, muffled, but it was a sound - a moan. The instantaneous flash of relief that Harry was indeed alive was just as quickly overshadowed as the moan became a whimper.

"Draco?" The pain in Harry's voice was so thick that it made Draco gasp.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Of course he's not. Stupid. Again Draco tried to step closer to the edge of the hole, and again, the unstable earth forced him back. "How far down are you? Can you climb out?"

There was a weak grunt of effort, and even from where he was standing Draco could hear strained, rapid breathing. "Stuck... there's a... a branch... log... on top. It's heavy."

Draco felt his eyes widen. A branch on top of him? How did a branch get down there? That doesn't matter. What mattered was the size of the branch, and how it was situated on top of Harry, and whether or not Harry could get out from underneath it. What if Harry couldn't do it himself? Draco would need to get in himself to get Harry out of there, but he couldn't even approach the edge of the hole safely until he knew something more about the situation.

"Ha- Harry... is there any sort of stable ground down there? Anything to stand on? Can I -"

"No," came the faint reply. "Like a... a crevasse. I'm kinda... wedged in. I..."

Harry's voice trailed off, and Draco's heart clenched. "Harry! Keep talking! You need to tell me how to get you out!" He waited a moment for a response. Nothing. "HARRY!"

"'M fine. Just... hurts."

"Harry, you don't sound good... you're scaring me."

"'s'okay." He sounded so distant. "Fine. Help..."

Draco eyed his path to the edge of the hole. Small pits and holes fractured the moist, dark earth. He could see rotting wood poking out of the ground here and there. Draco reached over and grabbed one of the branches and pulled. Bark crumbled against his hand, but the bough was buried solidly. He wondered how far down it extended. Perhaps it was anchored by a larger branch, or even the rest of the tree.

With that thought in the back of his mind, Draco reached out tentatively and tested the ground again. Completely unstable. He glanced around at the surrounding landscape. Half-tipped trees were everywhere, as though the ground itself was too weak to hold them. It looked like they were falling through the earth as Harry had, only more slowly. Draco couldn't be sure about the structure of the ground, or why it was so unstable, and he was well aware that what he didn't know could kill him. But if he had to take a guess, it looked as though old trees had died there, long ago, and the soil had later covered them. As though the valley had been flooded temporarily, burying the old forest in loose earth. He got the sinking feeling that the resultant ground was a honeycomb of decaying wood, soft soil, and empty spaces.

Empty spaces, just like the one in which Harry was trapped.

And if Harry could crash through so easily, the same thing could happen to Draco at any moment. Then they'd both be stuck, and Harry would never get out. He couldn't let that happen.

More carefully this time, Draco sized up the ground between himself and the edge of the hole. A little less than ten feet of pitted earth, with a couple of branches sticking out of the dirt. Harry's sunken footsteps were still evident along the surface.

Maybe if he spread out his weight, it would hold him. Even if it wouldn't, there were no other options.

"Harry, hang in there. I'm going to try to reach you." There was no reply, and even though Draco hadn't really been expecting one, it didn't make the silence any easier to take. "I'm coming."

Draco unfastened his cloak from around his neck and threw it aside. Slowly, he knelt on the ground. Moisture seeped from the soil through the knees of his trousers, and he felt his knees sink in far deeper than he would have liked. Swallowing the fear that was creeping up in his throat, he reached forward and slowly, cautiously, laid himself flat on the ground.

With his weight spread out, he didn't sink in as much. Encouraged by this, he crawled forward one inch, then another. The edge of the hole came closer. The moisture sank through his shirt, and the fabric felt damp and clingy against his chest and stomach. Doesn't matter. Keep going.

He could see partially into the hole now. It was a narrow opening, rough-edged, and broken, semi-rotted wood jutted around the perimeter. Just a little bit closer. Just a little bit...

Draco grasped the soft, crumbling edge of the hole, pulled himself the rest of the way, and looked down.

At first, he was terrified to see nothing but dirt. Then he looked closer and realized that some of the dirt had hair. "HARRY!"

The lump of dirt with hair moved, then tipped back to reveal the grime-streaked face of Harry Potter. His glasses were, amazingly, still perched on the bridge of his nose, but under the lenses, his eyes were unfocused. Blood trailed down his cheek from a nasty set of scratches, mixing with the dirt. Harry's vague description had been accurate: he was definitely wedged vertically into a narrow part of the hole, like a cork in the top of a wine bottle. The top of his head was about four feet down, and that was all Draco could see.

"H'lo, Draco." Up close, Draco could tell with startling clarity just how laboured Harry's breathing was, as though he couldn't take a deep breath. Under the streaks of dirt, his skin was frighteningly pale, and his lips had a slight tinge of blue.

"Harry! Are you okay? Can you reach up for my hand?" Draco stuck his hand as far down into the hole as he could, but he could barely reach half the distance. "Reach up... I'll pull you out."

A faint smile ghosted across Harry's face, then faded. "Can't. Arms... are stuck."

Draco looked again, and he could have kicked himself for not seeing the problem immediately. A large branch, so heavily covered with dirt that it was almost perfectly concealed, and easily as thick as a person, was wedged tightly against Harry's chest. The branch forked, and one thick limb crossed over the top of his left shoulder, holding his arm down. His right arm wasn't visible; Draco guessed it was pinned between his body and the side of the hole.

Just how the branch had managed to land on Harry like that was beyond Draco's comprehension. It must have been buried in the loose ground, and had collapsed in on Harry as the earth had shifted. Regardless of how it had got there, it was there now, and Harry was pinned in place.

And Draco didn't have a clue what to do next. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll get you out. Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he didn't really seem to be focusing. His head fell forward, and ironically enough, rested gently against the very branch that was holding him in place.

A sickening sense of helplessness settled in Draco's stomach. Just a moment ago, he'd been angry enough to go to blows with Harry, and now he wasn't even sure what they'd been arguing about. It seemed so inconsequential.

I have to get him out. I can't let the last thing between us be an argument. Not after everything we did... everything that happened... I have to get him out.

Think, Draco. To get Harry, I need to move that branch. The branch is huge... I can't move it on my own... Weightlessness Charm. I'll use a Weightlessness Charm on the branch. Then Harry can get loose, and I can pull him out.

"Harry! If I move that branch, do you think you could reach up to me?"

For a moment, Harry didn't even move. Draco felt his eyes go wide. "HARRY! Look up at me!"

After a painfully long moment, Harry looked up again. "Mmm?"

"If I move that branch, and you could move your arms, do you think you could reach up to me?"

Harry started to nod, but then his neutral expression fell into a frown. He shook his head slowly. "I'd fall... my feet are... dangling. Branch is... holding me up. Dunno how deep... it is."

The helplessness turned into a cold numbness in Draco's gut. If Harry was dangling, that meant the hole extended far deeper than it appeared. The ground there was even less stable than it had seemed at first. For all he knew, the whole thing could collapse again at any moment.

"What if... what if I were holding you so you couldn't fall?"

For a brief moment, Harry's eyes came into focus, then faded back out. "Might work."

Draco pressed his lips together, trying to concentrate, when Harry made a small noise.

"Draco... 'm scared."

The words wrapped around Draco's throat and squeezed. Harry? Scared? Harry was never scared. But if he was...

Two green eyes, unfocused behind their dirt-smeared glasses, blinked up at him. Yes, Harry was scared. And that thought terrified Draco more than anything else. He searched for something to say, but coherent words eluded him. Harry's eyes closed again, and his head tipped forward and thudded softly against the tree.

Draco all but jumped back, and rolled away from the edge of the hole. He made sure he was at least a couple of metres away from the hole before he dared to stand. Rope. I need rope. He cast around, knowing that a neatly coiled length of rope was the last thing he'd find out here, but hoping for something appropriate to transfigure. Given his own mediocre transfiguration skills, it would have to be something resembling a rope. His eyes fell on a branch lying on the ground, a short distance away.

With a surge of hope, he ran to the branch. One long stick forking off of the main branch looked promising. With a mighty pull, it snapped away. As he dragged it back towards the hole, he snapped off the smaller twigs along the length of the stick. Once it was clean, he laid it on the ground in front of him and pulled out his wand.

"Here goes nothing," he mumbled. "Ramus Verto."

The branch shivered, but remained a branch.

It wasn't simply that McGonagall was the Transfiguration professor. There was another thing that Draco disliked about Transfiguration: effort. The entire process required a level of immediate intent and effort that Draco had never quite enjoyed. It was different from Potions. As long as he went through the proper procedures, followed step-by-step, the potion would be correct. With Transfiguration, he had to actively focus and visualize what he wanted. The desired product wouldn't just appear with the recitation of the correct incantation, and the process required more effort than Draco usually cared to give. It had seemed somewhat pointless, because all his life, whenever he'd ever wanted something, all he'd had to do was to snap his fingers and the house-elves would come running.

Plus, he really didn't like McGonagall. But excuses weren't going to help him now. Excuses weren't going to save Harry.

Here, there was no house-elf.

Here, there was an immediate need.

Here, Draco had to focus, or Harry might die.

With a deep breath, Draco screwed up his face. In his mind, he could see the branch warping, twisting, becoming a rope.

"RAMUS VERTO!"

Immediately, the branch shook, and began to elongate. The wood twisted around itself, becoming fibrous in appearance. Draco was barely aware of his wand shaking with his own strain and effort. Finally, a long piece of rope sat coiled neatly in front of him, just as he'd pictured.

For a second, Draco felt a flash of pride, before a faint cough and a moan of pain brought him back to reality.

"Harry!"

Draco grabbed the coil of rope and rushed as close as he dared to the hole before falling to his knees. Laying himself out flat on the ground, he crawled forward until he was again looking down at the top of Harry's head.

"Harry, can you hear me?"

A weak groan was the only reply.

"Harry, I need to get this rope around you. I -" Draco stopped short. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he have been so short-sighted? How could Harry get the rope around himself when he couldn't even move his arms? But he had to! There was no other way. "Can you get one of your arms free? Harry?"

Harry's head tipped back up, and he seemed to see Draco. His head dropped again, and he shifted in place. Squirmed. Gasped in pain. "Can't."

Draco felt another wave of panic. "Are you sure?"

"'m sure." There was the strained sound of Harry taking a shallow breath. "Just... stuck. Sorry." And then he was still.

Draco's mouth hung open in disbelief. Harry was barely more than a metre away, but he was completely out of reach. Draco couldn't climb down; there was nothing to hold onto, and even if there were, that very action might cause the whole crevasse to cave in. The only places in the narrow hole where he could step were on Harry's shoulders, and on the branch itself. Adding any more weight to the branch would surely crush Harry, and he certainly wasn't going to step on Harry. Using a Summoning Charm directly on Harry would only succeed in jamming Harry more tightly against the branch, hurting him more. Using a charm to move the branch would drop Harry further down the hole unless he was being held up by something else. Draco could only use a spell on one item at a time: either the branch or Harry. Neither option would work safely.

There was nothing he could do. This couldn't be happening. One minute, Harry had been there, and now - over something so simple - it might all be over. But what could he do? It seemed so hopeless.

Draco edged back a few inches from the hole, feeling a hollow sort of pain beginning to lodge itself deep in his chest. He couldn't do this on his own. But for the first time in his life, he was on his own. And nobody was going to come to his rescue. He was supposed to be the rescuer. He was responsible for Harry's life.

And then Draco felt a tugging on the leg of his trousers.

He looked down, and almost screamed at the sight of the most decrepit rat sitting by his foot, staring at him. The rat didn't move for a moment, but then as suddenly as it had appeared, it grabbed the end of the rope and scampered into the hole.

Shocked, Draco pulled himself back to the edge of the hole and looked in. The rat was perched on Harry's shoulder, and seemed to be trying to find a way down around Harry. Harry was completely unresponsive, and Draco supposed that it was just as well, considering the likely identity of the rat.

The rat paused for a moment and regarded Harry. It almost appeared sad. Then it looked down to the side, grasped the end of the rope tightly in its mouth and, with a frantic scramble, disappeared again. Draco waited, holding his breath. Several agonizing seconds went by, then several more. The rope disappeared a centimetre at a time with jerks and tugs, and Draco started to feed the rope down the hole, trying to help. Finally, the rat re-emerged on the other side of Harry, still pulling the rope behind him. Draco could tell by where it had come out that it had managed to thread the rope under Harry's arms and around his back.

Tugging furiously on the rope, the rat scrambled up the side of the hole, using the large branch to assist its climb. The rope caught twice, and the rat almost dropped it the second time, but it held on and continued its frantic ascent. Finally, it came close enough for Draco to reach.

Draco fought back disbelief as his fingers closed around the rope. As soon as he had a hold of it, the rat raced back out of the hole and ran off, disappearing under a pile of leaves, just as it had done several days before. For a moment, Draco felt a flash of anger as Pettigrew abandoned him to the task of saving Harry by himself. But then, the rat-of-a-man could have just as easily done nothing. And perhaps he'd done enough.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Draco tested the rope. It was securely tucked under Harry's arms and around his back. Draco grabbed the longer end, and quickly looped the short end around it and tied a simple knot. He tugged on it, and when he was sure it was secure, he slid the slipknot along the rope as far as possible. A solid tug on the long end, and the loop was snugly fastened around Harry's chest. Harry hadn't reacted at all throughout this process, not even a twitch, but Draco couldn't think about that now. If he did, he might crack, and he knew it.

Praying to whatever gods might be listening, Draco shimmied backwards from the hole. Once he was on safe ground, he ran to the nearest tree with the long end of the rope. He took out as much slack as possible and quickly tied a knot. Then he tied another knot on top of that. And one more, just to be on the safe side.

Feeling a thick lump of nervousness congealing in the pit of his stomach, Draco approached the hole again. He walked as closely as possible towards the hole without having to crawl. From there, he could just see the top of the branch, which came closer to the surface than Harry's head. There was no time to hesitate. He took a deep breath, focused, and aimed his wand.

"Mobiliarbus!"

The branch shivered, shook, and then it moved. Around it, soil crumbled in place and fell. It wasn't enough.

Draco's wand was still trained on the rotting piece of wood. He tightened his focus, strengthened his intent. The branch shifted more, but he could feel that it wouldn't be enough.

Desperation flooded through him. He'd failed at too many things already, and damn it, he was not going to fail at this too!

"MOBILIARBUS!"

There was a rumbling sound, and the branch pushed its way back against the side of the hole until it became embedded in the soil, then deeper and deeper back from the hole and away from Harry. Finally, it stopped, stuck as surely as a fly stuck in tree sap. Draco stared at it, amazed that so much force had come from his own wand. He'd done it. Just wait until Harry sees... HARRY!

Draco lunged for the rope, and pulled. And pulled. The rope came far too slowly for Draco's liking, but finally, a filthy but familiar head of hair peeked over the edge of the hole. Harry was free. Bracing the rope with one hand, Draco aimed his wand with the other and whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Levitation Charms had never been his strongest suit, and he'd certainly never levitated a human being before, but empowered with a new sense of confidence, Draco easily manoeuvred Harry's inert form out of the hole. A few seconds later, he lowered Harry onto solid ground and rushed to his side.

"Harry, are you okay?" He gave Harry's shoulders a quick shake. "C'mon, Potter! After all that, you're not going to give out on me! Harry!"

Harry lay still, sprawled on his back, head tilted to one side. Unresponsive. No. Absolutely not... not now. He's fine. I'm sure he's fine. He has to be fine. Draco stared at Harry for what felt like an hour, but must have only been a few seconds. Panic was beginning to set in when Harry's mouth moved. He gave a short gasp, then a cough, followed by a moan of pain. And then bright green irises were peeking out through filthy glasses.

"Potter?"

"Draco," came the weak but coherent reply.

A tight smile tugged at the corner of Draco's mouth, but he couldn't relax. He was shaking with nervousness and pent-up adrenaline. Everything had happened so suddenly, and although it was now over, Draco was almost afraid that if he so much as blinked, Harry would still be stuck down that hole. That if he did anything, moved, reached out and touched Harry's sleeve, Harry would disappear. Draco swallowed, keeping his eyes wide open. "You... you're all right," he said, more trying to convince himself than anyone else.

"And you're filthy."

Draco finally blinked, and looked down at the front of his clothes, which were indeed saturated with nearly black dirt. And Draco realized that, amazingly, he didn't care. In fact, he found it amusing. In a rush of relief, Draco couldn't tell if he wanted to cry or laugh, so he settled for the next best thing. "You're not exactly sparkling clean yourself, Potter."

Harry coughed weakly and closed his eyes. "Thanks."

Draco tried to laugh, but only managed a convulsive exhalation. "Any time." He placed a hand lightly on Harry's arm. "And while I'm at it, I'll point out that your hair is a mess, but that's nothing new."

"No... I mean... thank you." Harry paused, then opened his eyes. "Thanks for pulling me out."

Draco felt his stomach jump slightly. "Hey... it's no problem."

"I... wasn't sure... wasn't sure that you would."

Staring down at Harry's prone form - muddy, bruised, and almost broken - Draco couldn't understand how Harry could suggest such a thing. "Harry, why would you say that?"

Harry's eyes closed again. He looked so tired. "Fight," was all he said.

In contrast to Harry's sprawled, drowsy appearance, Draco was suddenly sitting rigidly upright, eyes painfully wide open. He'd really almost forgotten about the fight, although it couldn't have been more than a half hour ago that he and Harry had been insulting and threatening each other as maliciously as they'd done back at Hogwarts. As soon as Harry's face had disappeared beneath the crumbling surface of the earth, however, the real danger had completely overshadowed the fight. After seeing Harry survive captivity, after escaping alongside him, after tasting the elusive, bittersweet edge of this strange new friendship -

Was this a friendship?

Draco looked at Harry again. His breaths were shallow and pained, and his lips still had a bluish tint to them underneath the layer of dirt. Concern welled up, but it wasn't so surprising this time.

"It was just an argument," Draco said offhandedly.

One of Harry's eyes opened a crack, appraising Draco, then fell shut again. "True, I suppose," he said thoughtfully.

Draco was just starting to feel pleased with himself, and to relax, when he noticed that Harry's face had gone slack again. "Harry? Harry!" He gripped Harry's arm tightly. "Hey, don't go falling asleep on me! You've got to tell me what your injuries are!"

Harry seemed to come around, and he opened his eyes, just slightly. "Chest hurts. I think I... bruised ribs. Can I rest? So tired... wanna sleep."

Somehow, that didn't sound like a good idea. "No, Harry, stay awake... at least until I use some healing charms." Draco began fishing through his sack for his knife.

"Why?"

"So you can tell me if the healing charms work." He pulled the knife out. "Sorry about your jumper, Harry. I'll fix it afterwards." And with that, Draco grabbed the hem of Harry's jumper and cleanly sliced it from his waist to his neck. The T-shirt immediately followed, exposing Harry's chest. Hideous bruises were already darkening across most of Harry's pale chest, and Draco winced in sympathy for the pain that Harry must be feeling. But something else stood out more, resting on the centre of Harry's breastbone.

The Mislocator.

Harry had the Mislocator. Without it... well... without Harry, Draco would never make it. He needed the Mislocator. But the thought hadn't crossed his mind once. Even though the Mislocator had been central to the fight they'd had only minutes ago, Draco had actually forgotten that Harry was carrying it. Even now, staring at ancient-looking compass, Draco was only able to dwell on it for a second before anxiety spurred him back into action. He pulled the device aside to reveal an even deeper bruise where the branch had crushed it against Harry's chest with enough force to nearly break the skin. The skin there was dark reddish-purple, and Draco could barely imagine how bad the underlying damage must be.

Draco certainly knew which charms to begin using to heal bruises and scratches, and he quickly set to work on the surface injuries, while wondering just how much of Harry's body was bruised. Still, he didn't know much about deeper healing without potions. He'd memorized a few charms, but he'd never needed to use them. "How's that feel, Harry?"

"'Bout the same."

"The scratches and some of the bruises are disappearing."

"Hurts deeper." Harry reached up and pressed his hand lightly against his own chest, coughed, and grimaced. "I hate feeling like this."

"Like what?" Draco asked, still feverishly working on the surface bruising.

"Weak. Helpless."

"You're not weak," Draco replied automatically.

Harry snorted in response, which only resulted in a grimace of pain. He took a slow, controlled breath before speaking. "I'm lying on the ground, flat on my back - ouch, easy there - and I can barely breathe, much less move." He smiled bitterly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually wish I could see Madam Pomfrey right now. No offence."

"None taken," Draco said as he tapped yet another bruise and watched it melt away under the tip of his wand. "And you're talking more. Good."

"It's a distraction."

"From what?"

"From the fact that I feel extremely exposed right now."

Draco spared a glance up at Harry's face. Harry's eyes were open and directed at some point in the far distance over his head, as far away from his bare chest as possible. Beyond his obvious physical discomfort, he looked... embarrassed. Draco gave a soft, sympathetic smile that he knew Harry didn't see. "Don't worry, Potter. I won't tell the girls how skinny you really are."

"That's not what I meant! I don't care what -" Harry's outburst was reduced to a moan of pain, and he suddenly became more pale.

"Harry?" Draco leaned forward, hoping to discern something. "What is it?"

"Nothing! I'm fine! I -" Harry made a move to sit up, and it became immediately obvious that moving was the last thing he should have done. He collapsed back against the ground, breathing shallowly. His skin changed from pale to a sickly shade of grey. Draco placed the back of his hand against Harry's cheek; it was cold and clammy.

"Harry, stop playing the hero! Damn Gryffindor, you're injured! Tell me what's wrong!" Draco was caught somewhere between impatience and frantic worry. How could Harry be so stupid? Was he trying to make his injuries worse? But at the same time, there was something admirable about the way Harry always wanted to hide his weaknesses, whereas Draco... he quickly brushed aside guilty memories of Hippogriff-related melodrama. He had more important things to think about - such as the fact that Harry seemed to be going into shock.

Draco gripped Harry's arm hard. "If you want me to help you, Potter, you need to tell me what's wrong!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, then opened them blearily. "Don't need... ouch... told you... ribs... I..." His eyes lost focus and closed, and his head tipped to the side.

If he'd thought logically about it, Draco would have sat back, considered that Harry probably had bruised or broken ribs, and aimed a basic healing charm deeper than the skin. He might have even attempted a bone-mending charm that he'd seen in his copy of "First Aid for the Active Wizard." But logic had escaped Draco at the moment. Instead, he reached out and rested his hands softly on Harry's chest. He almost pulled back in alarm when he felt what he thought was a sharp edge along what was supposed to be a smooth length of bone, but he squelched his reaction as quickly as it arose.

At some point, years ago, maybe he'd read something about this in some obscure text. Maybe he'd seen it done. Maybe not. Some simple healing technique, more basic than the complex spells used in modern magical healing, more general than the ailment-specific tricks used by professional healers. Draco had no idea why he was doing what he was doing, but right then and there, it made sense, and that was all that mattered.

Focused completely on Harry, Draco felt more than saw a warm sort of light begin to glow under the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he could picture that light sinking into Harry's chest, wrapping itself around each bone, strengthening and soothing. He saw the bruising and swelling fade away, replaced by the glowing heat. He was even sure he saw - and felt - the broken ends of bones fusing together, whole lengths of bone where there had been fragments. The light grew and spread before slowly dissipating, leaving nothing but a slight warmth and a shimmer in its wake.

It was only then, as the last of the light faded, that Draco realized what he'd done, or tried to do. And he felt absolutely foolish. He wasn't a healer! What if it hadn't worked? What if he had just made a fool of himself? Or worse, what if his stress and adrenaline had caused him to try something completely asinine, and the warmth and healing were just figments of his imagination? He suddenly felt very awkward, afraid to open his eyes.

Then he noticed that he still hadn't removed his hands from Harry's chest. Nor did his hands seem inclined to obey his order to pull away. He had to look.

More than a little bit nervous, Draco opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Harry's face. Just as it had been a moment ago, his face was still covered in dirt, and a few tiny traces of blood. Draco frowned, disappointed, but not sure exactly what he was looking for. He looked closer, and blinked in surprise. The scratches had disappeared. And instead of the pained expression that had twisted Harry's features, even while unconscious, he now appeared to be sleeping peacefully. There was something about the way Harry looked that stirred every minuscule shred of compassion Draco had ever felt. Again pulled by the same odd instinct which had caused him to touch Harry's chest, Draco reached out to brush his hand against Harry's cheek, to push the filthy locks of black hair back from Harry's forehead. He had to see if it was real, if the cuts and scrapes were really gone. And as he moved his hand, he caught his first look at Harry's chest.

Harry's skin was smooth and pale, without a trace of bruising, not even where the Mislocator had almost broken the skin. There were no nauseating shades of purple, no deep welts. There was just Harry's chest, rising and falling softly as he breathed easily in the gentle rhythms of sleep.

And Draco suspected that if he were so bold as to check over the rest of Harry's body, there wouldn't be a single scratch or bruise left on him. He looked back up at Harry's face, and caught part of Harry's familiar scar peeking out from under the fringe of his hair. Well, he hadn't really expected that to be gone, and interestingly, he was relieved that it wasn't.

Then it hit him. He'd actually healed Harry. Himself. With his own hands. Having only the most basic knowledge of healing charms, Draco knew he'd tapped something far more profound - the essence of all magic: turning intent into reality. For most mundane things, an incantation and a wand were necessary to focus the power. However, a strong enough focus, intent, or desperation was often known to be enough.

And Draco understood just how desperately he'd wanted to heal Harry.

He swallowed nervously. How was he going to explain this? Realizing that explanations were not his biggest concern, he slowly leaned forward, stopping when his own face was just a few inches above Harry's.

"Harry," he whispered. "Harry, wake up."

Beneath him, Harry made a tiny sound, like someone who didn't want to be woken from a good dream.

Draco smiled an uneasy smile. "Harry, I know you can hear me."

"Mmmhmm." Finally, a pair of green eyes fluttered open behind filthy glasses. "Draco," Harry said softly, uncertainly. "What happened?"

Draco ignored the question, but he did straighten up just a little bit. "How do you feel?"

Harry seemed to consider this. If he was bothered by Draco's proximity to his face, he didn't show it. "Odd. Kinda warm and tingly." He reached up and laid his hand flat against his bare chest, then turned a very intent gaze on Draco. "What did you do?"

Again, Draco sidestepped the question. "Here, move your hand. Reparo! There, told you I'd fix your jumper. Does anything still hurt? Are you in any pain?"

"No, I'm fine. What happened to me? I was - " Harry started to sit up, but halfway up, it became apparent that while he was healed of his injuries, he still hadn't completely recovered from the ordeal. As he started to tip over, Draco caught him and settled him back down, this time resting Harry's head and shoulders against his knees instead of laying him flat on the ground.

"Easy there. You're still not quite ready to play World Cup Quidditch."

The feel of Harry's weight against his legs caused the protective feelings to surge back up, but Draco quickly brushed them aside.

"Forget Quidditch for now; I'm just amazed I can breathe." Harry looked up at Draco, eyes wide with questions. "Draco, what did you do?"

Looking down at Harry, Draco searched over the dozens of things he could say, the explanations he could give. Finally, he settled on the one that seemed the closest to the truth. "I don't know."

Eyes remained locked for several long seconds, piercing green eyes searching deep into reluctant grey ones. Finally, Harry looked away.

"We must really be friends," Harry said softly, more to himself than to Draco. His voice was thick with some sort of emotion. It sounded like remorse, but Draco wasn't quite sure. Repentance, perhaps. "For you to do all that... after I... behaved like such an arse."

He paused, but Draco didn't have any words to interject. His own throat felt as thick as Harry's voice sounded. He waited silently until Harry gave a short laugh, then spoke again. "Friends. Some friend I am... threatened to run off. I can't believe I did that. But you didn't leave... Thanks, Draco."

Draco found himself feeling a sensation that had become very familiar in the last few minutes: awkwardness. "Harry... you've got to be exhausted. Maybe you should rest some."

For a moment, Harry seemed ready to protest, but then he sagged against Draco again. "I think you're right."

"Finally done playing the hero?"

"Sure. Your turn." Harry smirked. "You get the cover of Witch Weekly, the celebrity interviews, and the hordes of fans."

Draco found himself smirking in return. Harry didn't really joke often, but Draco found that he really liked it when Harry did. "As it should be, of course. I was custom-designed for fame and fortune. This body, this hair, this majestic profile..."

"You're just as skinny as I am, Malfoy. And you have a pointy nose."

Draco's hand immediately went to his nose, and when he realized his reaction, he quickly dropped his hand and scowled. Harry laughed, then rolled over and sat up slowly, facing Draco. "Well, you do have the hair. One out of three isn't bad, Draco."

Draco's scowl immediately morphed into his practised expression of superiority. "Yes, my hair, worthy of the gods." He ran his hand through his fringe, pushing it back, and his eyes went wide as he felt the grittiness of the dirt in his hair. "Merlin, I need a shower."

Harry laughed.

"No proper hero should be so filthy."

Harry laughed even harder. "Oh, and that's the other part of the hero bargain. Almost forgot. Heroes are always getting filthy."

"Not me."

"And you get to face your own mortality at least once a year."

"Er..."

"And you are required to have a supremely powerful arch enemy to ensure that you face your mortality at least once a year, and who will eventually kill you if he can."

"Now wait a minute..."

"And don't forget the lovely scar, to symbolize your permanent status as a freak."

"Okay, Potter, you've made your point." Draco's voice was hard, but his heart wasn't in it. "I'm not cut out for this hero-business. I'll be happy if we both get home alive."

Harry smiled softly. "Sometimes, that's all it takes. Getting out alive. That's all I've done, remember?" His eyes dropped down, gazing at Draco's collar. Draco almost pulled away in surprise as Harry reached out a hand and touched the base of his neck. "Besides, you've already got your own scar."

Draco blinked. Without thinking, he raised his hand to the base of his neck. Harry caught his hand and placed the tips of his fingers over the spot before withdrawing his own hand. Draco's fingers traced a thin, jagged ridge of scar tissue, which ran roughly horizontal across the base of his throat. That reminder still made him nervous. Finally, he dropped his hands, and swallowed. "You still need to rest a bit before we start moving again. Come on, let's go find a better place than this." He eyed the hole nervously. "I don't want to be any closer to that than necessary."

Draco lurched to his feet, suddenly realizing that he felt quite drained from the ordeal himself. Still, he held a hand out to Harry.

Harry accepted his hand.

*********

With Harry napping quietly, Draco had time to react to what had just happened. First, he'd found himself shaking uncontrollably for several minutes. He'd balled his hands into tight fists until his nails dug painfully into his palms, waiting for the shaking to stop.

When that finally passed, he realized the world was spinning slightly around him. He was almost as exhausted as Harry looked. Now that he had a moment to consider it, he realized that he should have expected it. A wand not only helped to focus magical power and intent, but also had its own magic to augment the magic of the person who wielded it. Without a wand to add power, any significant magical act, if successful, could exhaust the wizard.

Wandless magic wasn't common, but it wasn't rare either. It would happen when a witch or wizard was angry or scared, during times of high adrenaline and emotional energy. That extra boost temporarily gave the wizard enough power to perform basic magic without the aid of a wand. In fact, that was how most parents discovered that their children were witches and wizards. The child would get scared or angry, and the next minute, something sharp and pointy would be flying across the room. There were also countless stories of panicked witches performing incredible feats of wandless magic when their children were in danger, and of witches and wizards protecting their lovers. A witch or wizard could easily shatter wineglasses and windows when properly furious without meaning to, or perform a fair shielding spell in a moment of fear. Under enough stress, some wizards did incredible things.

So it wasn't that unusual. Draco had certainly been scared enough to perform a minor act of wandless magic, but what he had actually done... that couldn't begin to compare with a mere broken wineglass.

Broken wineglass. Draco hung his head, and quickly pushed that memory to the back of his mind.

It had taken far more than mild panic to allow Draco to accomplish what he had - a lot more. He had to admit to himself, he had been terrified at the thought of Harry dying in front of him. And somehow, Draco suspected that he might not have been quite so capable of healing anyone but Harry. Two people couldn't go through life-altering experiences together without forming some sort of bond, and Draco was aware that he and Harry had been through just such an experience, or more specifically, a long string of such experiences over the course of the past two weeks. After all that, he had suddenly been faced with the prospect of losing Harry. In that moment, nothing else had mattered. That thought itself scared Draco just a little bit... or maybe more than a little bit.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, Draco could think back on what had happened in the moments before Harry had fallen. It had been easy to argue with Harry, to yell at him and to insult him. In the wake of a terrifying night-time encounter with the Dark Lord's mind, it had been easy to take his fear out on Harry, to distract himself from his own fears by masking them with anger and contempt. With the possibility of his own mother's death weighing on Draco, a death in which Harry would have played an unknowing part, it had been so easy to lay blame. Draco didn't hate Harry - not any more - but he hadn't been prepared to risk his own mother.

Was it a false threat? Just a mind-game You-Know-Who was using? Just another pawn being manoeuvred, another round of cat-and-mouse?

Draco sighed. Did it matter?

The instant Harry had disappeared from sight, every other thought had disappeared as well. His mother, his own safety... those things hadn't mattered. It wasn't that Draco had rescued Harry out of sheer kindness. Nor had he considered the Mislocator. It hadn't even been a conscious decision. In his mind, there had simply been no other choice. Harry had been in danger, and Draco had had to help him.

Why?

Draco glanced down at Harry, who was still sleeping soundly. He looked so innocent and helpless, even though Draco knew how strong he really was. And even though Draco had been mildly obsessed with Harry for years - the rivalry, the fighting, the insults, the competition, everything - he'd never considered the possibility that there was more to it.

Something about Harry was magnetic. Even though he was just a boy with messy hair and glasses, he stood out in a crowd more than anyone else Draco had ever met. Or maybe that was just how Draco saw it. He didn't know any more. Sitting on the floor of a forest, miles from anyone but Harry, Draco felt as though he didn't know much at all anymore. The events of the last two weeks had completely skewed his frame of reference.

What he did know was that Harry was still filthy. With a faint smile on his face, Draco began casting cleaning charms as he continued to think.

Somehow, Harry was becoming familiar, comfortably close - definitely to the point where he would be missed if he were absent. When Harry had threatened to run off, Draco had been afraid of going outside the range of the Mislocator, but in addition to that, he'd been afraid that Harry really was going to run off. Afraid of wandering the forest alone, perhaps, but more than that simple fear, he was afraid of being away from Harry.

The understanding of the situation didn't come to Draco in a brilliant flash; it just appeared softly, like realizing that a candle had been burning for a long time in the corner of a dark, dusty room before someone actually noticed the source of light.

He was addicted to Harry. Perhaps he had been for years.

Harry had used the term "friends." Maybe that was right, but Draco couldn't associate this friendship with any friendship he'd ever had before. Harry was nothing like Crabbe or Goyle. Nothing like Theodore Nott, or Blaise Zabini. This was Harry, and this was something far different.

But then, Harry had always been different.

Draco finished using the cleaning charms on Harry, then turned his attention to his own filthy hair and clothes. He didn't even know how he'd managed to get dirt in his hair, but at the time, he hadn't cared. Nothing had mattered, except Harry. That was still a very sobering thought.

The memory of the bruises on Harry's chest flashed across Draco's mind. Even though he hadn't seen the broken bones with his eyes, he knew they'd been there. All he had been able think about was stopping Harry's pain. A moment later, the bruises had been gone. And Draco's hands had been resting on the smooth, pale skin...

Draco sat bolt upright against the tree, blinking furiously. That was an interesting mental image. But then, he was just thinking of the fact that Harry had been healed. Yes, that was it.

Although he had noticed that Harry's skin was very smooth. And the after-effects of the magic had left him... well... shimmering. Just a bit. And he'd also noticed that Harry had finally gained some weight.

It's not like he had any to lose, Draco thought sullenly. Must be all the biscuits he eats. Merlin, I'm just overtired.

Draco forced himself to relax back against the trunk of the tree he and Harry had chosen for their resting spot. He was trying to adjust his position to get comfortable when his hand came across a lump in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the Mislocator, which he'd removed from Harry's neck while casting the healing charms, just so that it wouldn't get in the way.

He could keep it; that would unarguably be the smarter approach, and certainly the safer approach. Still, it wouldn't be the right approach.

With a faint smile, Draco reached over and looped the cord around Harry's neck, then slid the compass under his jumper. If they were going to get back to Hogwarts, they were going to do it together. And they would get back on time. They had to. He couldn't imagine doing all this for nothing.

Once they were back at Hogwarts, Snape and Dumbledore would surely be able to work out the counter-curse. Until then, there was nothing that could be done. A potion could only be countered with a potion, and while Draco was a fairly capable Potions student, that was exactly what he was: a student. Until seventh year, the only thing they ever did was to follow predetermined procedures, brewing potions from recipes, and to learn a little bit about the individual properties of some common ingredients. They wouldn't begin designing brews of their own for another year. Draco bit his lower lip and thought absently of the vast array of jars, bins and phials arranged alphabetically on the shelves of Snape's potions storage room. There were so many things on those shelves, both common and exotic... something had to work, and Snape would know exactly what to do. Draco was sure of it.

Feeling somewhat comforted by that thought, Draco was about to lie back again when something caught his eye. A grass-like plant with long, drooping blades. Calamus. A semi-common potions ingredient. Draco almost laughed aloud, remembering Harry's initial lecture about finding potions ingredients just growing underfoot out here. When he stopped to look, sure enough, things were right there. Calamus was a lunar herb. Highly poisonous if consumed raw, or used improperly in a potion. It was sometimes used in old-fashioned luck charms, but in certain potions, it was a powerful binding ingredient. And it just happened to be one of the ingredients in the Soul's Eclipse potion.

Not sure what he specifically meant to do with it, Draco grasped the small plant near the base, and pulled it up by the roots. There was no need for the ingredients for the actual Soul's Eclipse potion; Harry needed an antidote, not the original potion. And even then, Draco couldn't remotely picture himself trying to come up with such a concoction. He wouldn't know where to begin. Still, he felt that he ought to keep it. Just in case. Quickly, he snapped off the root from the leaves; the root was the only part used in potions. He stuffed the root into an extra pocket, and lay back against the tree, surprised to be feeling even more uneasy than he had before. Some thought was niggling at the back of his mind, but it was so nebulous that Draco knew his exhausted brain didn't have a chance of unearthing it properly.

He tried to relax as all his thoughts began to blur together, but even mental incoherence wasn't enough to let him rest. All his fuzzy tendrils of thought turned into a low buzzing in his brain, and all he wanted was to shut it off. He squirmed for a minute before his arm brushed against Harry's. Afraid that his companion would wake, Draco quickly pulled away. But Harry didn't stir.

Draco regarded Harry, once again thinking about how close he had come to losing him. Again, he marvelled that he cared that he might have lost Harry. And all for what? Because he couldn't just tell Harry what was going on, and he'd closed up, become stand-offish, and it had degraded into a fight? That was ridiculous. He couldn't keep playing this game, ignoring reality in favour of emotional comfort.

Draco reached down and patted the pocket containing the calamus root. If he told Harry, maybe they could reach a solution together. Harry was powerful, and loathe as Draco had once been to admit it, he wasn't stupid either. Together, perhaps they had a chance of coming up with a counter-curse themselves. Or they'd get home faster, and Snape could help. Or at least Draco wouldn't feel like beating himself about the head in frustration without Harry understanding why, and stopping him. Or... or...

He had to tell Harry. That was all there was to it.

Instantly, the buzzing disappeared, and the uneasiness faded. Feeling strangely light - lighter than he had felt for as long as he could remember - Draco resettled himself against the tree again, close to Harry. So close that his arm brushed against the sleeve of Harry's jumper. This time, Draco made no move to pull away. It was reassuring, and somehow it alleviated the strange fear that Harry might disappear the instant Draco stopped paying attention. It was funny that he worried about such things, he thought as he yawned and closed his eyes.

*********

The first thing Harry was aware of was the fact that he was completely disoriented. He opened his eyes a crack and saw the forest around him. Why was he asleep in the middle of the day? He blinked once against the bright light, and suddenly it all came rushing back. The argument, the cave-in, being stuck, the pain, the feeling of suffocation, and finally, Draco saving him. Again. Harry closed his eyes and barely managed to suppress a groan at the cumulative memory.

He wasn't sure if he was more angry at himself, or embarrassed. Of course, the sensation of embarrassment brought him back to the memory of lying on the ground, chest exposed, with Draco casting healing charms on him. In all his life, he couldn't remember ever having felt quite so self-conscious. He had felt so weak, so helpless, in front of Draco Malfoy. Why it mattered to him, he wasn't quite sure. One thing he did know, however, was that he had nobody to blame for that situation but himself.

I was actually going to run off with the Mislocator. I was really going to do it. Unbidden, his mind started playing that moment - the moment he'd made that threat - over and over. He remembered the anger he'd felt. He saw the look of fear and betrayal on Draco's face. Then there was the most nauseating part of the memory: the sense of power and vindication he'd experienced, for that brief moment, when he knew he was holding Draco's life in his hands. It was something he would never have considered in a sane moment. It was the way Voldemort functioned, and years ago, Voldemort had tried to tempt him with such power. Even all these years later, Harry could remember clearly the instant for which he had seriously considered the offer.

It was the Slytherin side of himself whose existence Harry had long tried to deny. But that side of him was real. He'd actually been pleased with the knowledge that he was toying with someone's life. The thought made him feel sick.

And moments later, his life had been in Draco's hands.

Draco, the model Slytherin, who hadn't hesitated to save Harry.

The irony was thicker than frozen treacle.

The anger took over, pushing the embarrassment to the back of his mind. Harry squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt. Why did I do that? How could I have let it come to that?

After the fiasco at the Ministry last spring, he'd sworn to himself not to let rash emotions control him. He'd sworn not to make impulsive decisions based on irrational thoughts. When he did that, people died. This time, it might have been him.

Not that I wouldn't have deserved it, he thought grimly. With a soft grunt of exertion, Harry sat up straighter against the tree behind him, intending to take a better look at his surroundings, when he felt something against his arm. He looked down, and saw Draco.

Draco was fast asleep, and in his sleep, he must have moved, for he was curled slightly towards Harry with one hand draped over Harry's arm in what appeared to be a protective gesture. Some small part of Harry's mind told him that he should be annoyed at the intrusion on his space, but a far larger part of him immediately squashed the thought. How could he be annoyed if Draco's subconscious was feeling protective? More to the point, how dare he? Draco's protection was the only reason he was alive now. Twice over. He should be grateful beyond words for the sacrifices Draco had made for him.

The anger Harry felt at himself quickly turned into guilt. His words to Draco echoed though his mind. "Ungrateful? Ungrateful? YOU GOT ME INTO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!" And then the pained look on Draco's face as he'd yelled back, "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE?"

Harry hadn't known it was humanly possible to feel this guilty without actually having killed someone. Draco had more than made up for his mistakes, and Harry knew it. He'd been completely out of line to use that against Draco, even before Draco had pulled him out of that hole. Draco had apologized, had proven his sincerity, and Harry had accepted the apology. That should have been enough.

I am such a bastard.

Harry looked down at the slender hand laid across his arm, fingers softly clenching the fabric of his jumper. Under closer observation, Draco's hands were... fascinating. They were almost the exact same size as Harry's, but where Harry had always felt that his own hands were bony and gawky, Draco's hands looked slender, elegant, and even delicate. At the same time, there was definitely strength to them. Not that Harry was in the habit of examining people's hands. But still, it was there for the observation. As Harry's gaze drifted along the long line of Draco's forefinger, he noticed a red mark against the pale skin, and a matching mark on the inside of the thumb.

Curious more than concerned, Harry shifted very slowly and, moving as carefully as he could so as not to wake him, turned Draco's hand over. And stared.

The palm of Draco's hand was covered by a violent rope burn. In the centre of the rope burn were four perfect crescent-shaped indentations, where Draco's nails had almost broken his skin. Harry swallowed as he realized Draco's other hand probably looked the same. The rope must have slid against his grip while he'd been pulling Harry out of the hole. Again, his own angry words came back to him.

"Let me give you a clue, Malfoy. Life isn't easy! It doesn't cater to your inbred, pure-blooded arse or your perfect, uncallused hands!"

Harry blinked once, and was hit by a hot flash of shame as he realized his eyes were watering. Embarrassment crumbled underneath another wave of guilt. Those uncallused hands had still been tough enough to pull him out.

He felt even more remorseful when he thought how difficult it must have been to actually pull him out of there. In fact, Harry still had no idea how Draco had accomplished that feat by himself. He remembered there being a rope around him, but he had no clue how it had got there. To be honest, he didn't remember much, with two exceptions: Draco's desperate voice calling his name, and the bleak acceptance of the fact that he didn't expect to get out of there alive. But he had come out alive, and the reason for his survival was sleeping soundly in front of him.

Gently, Harry folded Draco's hand down and laid it across his torso, then leaned back to appraise his sleeping companion.

Draco cared. As startling a notion as that was, it was undeniable, and unmistakable. After healing all of Harry's injuries, Draco had been too shaken to notice the red, raw blistering on the sensitive palms of his own hands, too distracted to bother healing himself. And then, after that, the stress had caused him to dig his nails into the already-painful rope burns. Harry suspected that Draco hadn't even noticed. As he considered that fact, a strange warmth welled up in his throat.

Draco really did care, and not just when there was an emergency, either. He'd been there. Not just physically there, as a travelling companion, but completely present, paying attention to everything Harry did or said. It was strange to have someone listening so diligently after so many years of being brushed off, but it was a wonderful feeling. In the past few days, Harry had come to know Draco as well as he'd ever known anyone. Perhaps it was only because they had no one but each other for company, but that didn't seem to matter. Perhaps it was also partially that Harry didn't really get to know anybody that closely.

Ron and Hermione... what about them? Wasn't he closer to them? Of course he was! He'd known them as true friends for years. Although... there was still something different there. Since the previous spring, he'd withdrawn from everyone a lot, including his best friends. He wasn't avoiding them at all; he had simply closed up, hiding in his shell. The letters he'd sent them with Hedwig over the summer had been concerned and courteous, but also brief and impersonal. And since they'd returned to school, Harry just hadn't felt like talking much to anyone.

Until now, with Draco, Harry hadn't really spoken to anyone at length since Sirius had died. Until now, he really hadn't had anything to say. Not that the situation had been particularly conducive to pleasant chit-chat, but it wasn't idle chatter that Harry wanted. In fact, he hated it. He needed the intensity. Needed a challenge. Maybe he even needed a struggle and a fight to get him back in the business of living instead of wallowing in his misery. Fuck, except for almost getting killed by Voldemort - which in a twisted way was just getting back to the old routine, too - this was almost exactly what he'd needed to break out of the cage he'd built around himself. Even if it was with Draco.

And maybe nobody but Draco would have done.

Harry's mouth opened just slightly into a small "o" as he considered the strange closeness in this new friendship. Images of recent days started to flash through his mind. Draco, holding him tightly, telling him he wasn't ready for World Cup Quidditch. Draco's warm back pressed against his under the cloak at night. Draco, supporting him as they had run from Voldemort's fortress. Draco, helping him sit up after he'd been tortured by Voldemort. Draco's hand on his arm, just now, as they'd slept. Harry reached down and lightly touched that spot on his arm.

Harry had friends, but he'd almost never been touched. Not in any way that mattered. In fact, he was almost uncomfortable with it. Touch was something outside his normal realm of experience, something he'd been denied by the Dursleys far more blatantly than food or properly fitting clothing. Something he still felt uncertain about, as though he was treading on forbidden territory.

In his fourth year, he'd been really hugged - tightly, protectively, affectionately - for the first time in his life, by Mrs. Weasley, and it had been almost a shock to the system. The feeling of someone's arms around him, making him the centre of her universe, protecting him, if only for that brief moment... he couldn't begin to describe it. Sure, he'd hugged Hermione, and he'd given Ron friendly claps on the back, but Mrs. Weasley's hug had been different.

And being held by Draco... that was different again.

It was another shock as Harry realized just how many times he'd been in physical contact with Draco in the past few days. Not including sleeping back-to-back at night, they'd helped each other up steep slopes or over obstacles dozens of times, hands offered in help, hands clasped in acceptance, without so much as a second thought. His own forward actions were also surprising, in retrospect. He recalled putting an arm on Draco's shoulder, and resting his own forehead against Draco's as he spoke in his most... confidential manner; that was so far outside his usual comfort level regarding physical touch, he still didn't know why he'd done it. And until now, he hadn't even considered it. It had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. This gave further proof that he was comfortable with Draco, despite the fact that every shred of his past experience with Malfoy told him he was insane for this.

Again, Harry sighed. He'd been out in the woods for too long, away from his real friends. He was overstressed and overtired, and every muscle in his legs and back ached from walking and climbing all day, and sleeping on the hard ground at night. He was still worried about whether or not they could really just walk home, or if something else would stop them. He was lonely, and he'd been trying desperately not to show just how uneasy he really was with everything.

And all the while, Draco had been there. He supposed that for now, that was all that mattered.

Harry wasn't quite sure what all this meant, and he was too tired to think about it any more. Still, he was sure of one thing. He was going to treat Draco with the same dignity that he wanted for himself. Draco had earned that much from him. He hated to be questioned, so if Draco wanted to keep his secrets, if he felt that the visions Voldemort was using to torture him were somehow too personal, then Harry would respect that. If Draco wanted to get home as quickly as possible, Harry had no reason to question his motives. (In fact, getting home quickly was a bloody good idea.) Draco had given him no reason to distrust him since they'd left Voldemort's dungeons, and Harry was going to honour the trust Draco had earned.

Harry surveyed Draco again. He looked so tired; a bit more pale than usual, despite the amount of sunlight he'd had since they'd escaped, and perhaps a bit drawn. It must have really taken a lot out of him, Harry mused, considering the fight, the rescue, and whatever brilliant healing charm Draco had used.

Wondering how long they'd slept, Harry quickly used his wand to orient himself, then checked the angle of the sun. Early to mid-afternoon. They'd slept for several hours. Draco wouldn't like that they'd lost so much travel time, since he seemed quite keen on making good distance every day. Still, Harry supposed he wouldn't mind the delay, just this once. They'd make it home eventually.

Harry leaned forward and reached for the food pack, but as he did so, he felt something thud against his chest. Surprised, he reached up to his neck and found the chain of the Mislocator. Placing his hand against the front of his jumper, he felt the telltale lump of the Mislocator itself. Draco hadn't taken it back. He'd surely had the opportunity to do so. Harry wouldn't have blamed him if he had. Regardless, Harry felt a deep sense of gratitude for the small gesture. It said so much.

Draco still trusted him.

After all that had happened, Draco was still willing to take a chance on him. That very fact amazed Harry, and not for the first time, he wondered if this was the same Draco Malfoy he'd known for more than five years. Draco had changed. Or maybe, more specifically, the situation had changed.

And then another thought struck him, and as he thought it, he marvelled that it hadn't occurred to him sooner.

I've changed too.

A year ago - fuck, two weeks ago - he never would have given Draco Malfoy the time of day. He wouldn't have even bothered to consider the fact that Malfoy was human. In fact, Harry knew he'd been perfectly content to view anyone who wasn't on his side as nothing more than an object of disdain. Especially Draco. It had been so black and white, and Harry had liked it like that. It was simpler.

But it wasn't right.

Life was complex; people were complex. Draco was no exception, and Harry was finding that he appreciated that fact. And he respected it.

Harry smiled softly to himself, and reached for the food pack.

*********

Draco awoke to the sensation of a cool breeze across his face. He turned lazily towards Harry, meaning to wake him and ask him how long he thought they'd slept, but nobody was leaning against the tree but him. Draco was suddenly wide awake. With a surge of panic, he sat up straighter and glanced around, but there was nobody. Harry was missing.

He can't be far, Draco reasoned to himself, trying to stay calm. He has the Mislocator. He wouldn't leave me. I know he wouldn't!

Feeling somewhat frantic, and not quite sure what to do, Draco jumped up and turned quickly...

... and crashed face first into Harry.

"OOMPH!" Harry stumbled a step, and laughed. "Well, good to see you're awake."

The uncomfortable sensation of wasted adrenaline immediately went to Draco's cheeks, and he knew he was blushing furiously. "Where the hell did you go?" Draco asked quickly, not wanting to sound too desperate or too angry.

But Harry just smiled. "Missed me that much already?"

Draco felt his face get a bit warmer, which caused Harry to laugh, which in turn only made Draco more embarrassed. He pressed his lips together angrily and glowered, refusing to justify anything with an answer.

Harry shook his head. "Relax, Draco. I just needed to go use the loo... or in this case, the nearest tree." He held up the travel sack. "And you woke up just in time for dessert."

Draco rolled his eyes to help shake off the effects of the adrenaline rush as he took the sack. "You eat too many sweets," he mumbled as he sat down, already fishing for an oatcake.

Harry plopped down next to him, snickering. "Are you worried about my girlish figure? If I'm not careful, I'll be fatter than Dudley."

The comment was so casual that Draco found himself laughing. "Right, that's your cousin who resembles the beached whale, yes? I don't think you have anything to worry about there. Okay, you can eat as many sweets as you want. In fact, you should be pleased. I noticed that you're putting on some weight. Your ribs aren't showing as badly."

Getting a sudden odd feeling, Draco looked up over the edge of the sack at Harry, who was now studying him with a bemused expression on his face. Draco realized exactly what he'd just said: he must have been looking, to have noticed such a thing. "I... I'm sorry, I just meant, you know, you were damned heavy to pull out of that hole, you know, Potter."

Merlin, I'm stammering. Draco found himself wishing that he was still asleep. Covering for his sudden lack of eloquence, he grabbed the first thing in the food sack that he touched and shoved the sack at Harry. "Here, have your dessert."

Harry laughed again and immediately thrust his hand into the sack, with his arm disappearing up to his shoulder. "Actually... I already had three chocolate biscuits. I just wanted a piece of fruit. Ah... apple... that'll do."

"Three chocolate... you're a bottomless pit, you know that?" Draco paused to look down at what he'd grabbed. Sandwich. Seemed to be... "Eurgh! Corned beef! Give me that sack. I need something that I can eat."

A moment later, he was digging through the sack, as Harry was crunching into his apple.

"Er, Draco?"

"What?"

"I think this apple has gone bad. It's all... dry inside."

Draco looked up to tell Harry that nothing could go bad in the food sack, but what he saw was even funnier. "Harry, that's not an apple."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed together. "It looks like an apple, albeit a rather strange apple. It smells like an apple."

"It's a quince," Draco explained, not really sure if Harry was kidding or not. "Haven't you ever seen a fresh quince before?"

Harry actually managed to look sheepish. "Maybe Aunt Petunia kept one or two in the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, but I wasn't allowed to touch the fruit bowl anyway, so I don't really know. And of course Dudley and Uncle Vernon wouldn't touch fruit unless it was baked into a tart."

"Well, that is a quince, and a perfectly fresh one at that."

Harry looked critically at the bitten fruit. "It doesn't taste bad, just a little bit dry." He nibbled at the edge of the bitten spot. "They're supposed to be for eating?"

"Well," Draco said slowly, "I've mostly seen quince used for ornamental purposes and cooking, and I've had some tasty quince jelly, honestly, but they're perfectly healthy. Just a bit dry for my tastes." Draco cocked his head to the side as he considered it. "Actually, if you look at it, it looks like a perfectly logical thing to eat. I mean, think about a pineapple. What idiot picked up one of those viciously prickly things and said, 'Oh, look! It's got spikes all over it, and even the leaves could cut human flesh! I think I'll eat it!'"

Harry snickered. "For that matter, think about the first person who ate a lobster. It's supposed to be a delicacy, but it looks like a mutant scorpion, you have to cook it alive, and those claws could take your fingers off. Or caviar. Look at those slimy little -"

Draco blanched. "You can stop right there, Potter, before you ruin my delicately honed taste for caviar. You've already ruined lobster for me. I may never eat lobster again." He looked back down into the food sack. "In fact, I think I've lost my appetite."

Harry's face softened. "Sorry, Draco. I just thought it was funny. My aunt and uncle entertained a very wealthy client once, and they served whole lobsters for the main course, and caviar on these little crackers for snacks. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but when I reached for a cracker, Aunt Petunia slapped my hand and told me that she wouldn't see expensive caviar wasted on me. Then she locked me away until the client had come and gone. So I made up all sorts of reasons why I wouldn't want those foods anyway."

Draco found himself nodding slowly. "That makes sense."

The grin on Harry's face suddenly became devious again. "Because who on earth would want to eat those slimy, greasy little balls that reek of fish and regurgitated -"

"POTTER!"

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Harry smiled innocently, just before he took a huge bite out of the quince.

Draco shook his head in resignation. Going up against Harry was a losing game. Although it was often an entertaining one. "Are you going to let me eat something so we can get out of here? We've wasted enough time already, you know."

Harry's smile suddenly faded completely. "I'm sorry," he said, much more sincerely this time. "And actually, you really need to eat something. You looked a bit peaky earlier. While you were sleeping."

It was Draco's turn to fix Harry with a bemused stare, and inwardly gloat when he was rewarded by Harry blushing.

"Not that I was watching you sleep, or anything, but you were right there, and it was kinda hard to miss, you know, and you're still a bit battered from earlier, so I figured -"

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Oh."

One point for Draco Malfoy. Feeling a bit better, Draco gave the requisite smirk and resumed his search for something to eat that wouldn't remind him of mutant scorpions or other nasty things. He'd barely been able to stomach caviar when it was served to him anyway, and the only way he could do it was to not think about what it really was. Well, he thought, it's not like I'm going to be invited to one of my parents' dinner parties anytime soon.

Finally, he found an oatcake underneath a couple of limes. An oatcake was safe.

"By the way, Harry, how are you feeling?" He took a bite of oatcake and spoke around it. "Any lasting aches, pains, or whatnot from your fall there?"

"Actually, no. In fact, I feel great. It's amazing."

Draco glanced up to see Harry staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. "What's amazing?"

"Whatever you did. I feel like I've been given a new body or something. Draco, seriously, what did you do?

He would have answered if he could. But there were no answers that made sense, or that didn't sound completely ridiculous. "Just an old healing technique. Something my nurse, Matilda, showed me," he lied.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding just a bit disappointed, and Draco could tell that Harry knew he was fibbing.

He couldn't lie to Harry. Not when he'd just sworn to himself that he would tell Harry everything. Draco's head dropped. "Actually, it's not that. Honestly, Harry, I'm not quite sure what I did. Maybe, when I figure it out, I'll show you, okay? Because I'm still trying to figure it out myself."

It wasn't a great answer. In fact, it wasn't an answer at all. But Harry seemed far more satisfied with that response than the first one. "Okay," he said simply, before biting back into the quince.

Draco shook his head and turned his attention back to his oatcake. He'd barely taken two bites, however, when he heard Harry clear his throat. Draco looked up to see Harry sitting there, fiddling with his piece of fruit, not having taken another bite. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry hesitated for a few more seconds before meeting Draco's eyes. He looked like he was really wrestling with whatever he was going to say. "I... er... wanted to apologize. For being such an arse. That whole thing was my fault. I wasn't thinking... I do that sometimes... get carried away, I mean... and I act like such an idiot." He glanced away again. "If I hadn't been so pushy... you know... we wouldn't have argued like that, and I never should have -"

"Wait, Harry, slow down! Just stop for a second." Harry glanced up again, suddenly looking very unsure of himself, a look which seemed both out of place on him, yet so well-worn. Draco gritted his teeth. Before Harry got too carried away with the apologies, Draco had something that needed to be said much more. Several things, in fact. And now seemed like the right time, if there was such a thing. He took a deep breath.

"Harry, you had a right to be angry at me. I wasn't exactly being the easiest person in the world to get on with, you know."

Harry shrugged.

"Listen, there are some things I didn't tell you. I should have -"

"I know."

Draco's heart leapt into his throat. "You know?" It came out as a croak, so Draco coughed once and tried again. "You know what?"

Harry looked away. "I know you were keeping some things from me," he said quietly.

Draco had been pretty sure that Harry had suspected something, but to hear him say it just like that, wide out in the open, it felt like a cold knife. "Harry, I -"

He was silenced by Harry's upraised hand. "Actually, I decided I don't want you to tell me."

If there was anything Draco hadn't expected Harry to say, that was it. "You what?"

"I don't want you to tell me." Harry shifted his position, placing himself just a bit closer to Draco, as though meaning to make his words seem more confidential. "Listen, I thought a lot about this while you were still asleep. When I used to have dreams and visions about Voldemort, or even when there was nothing going on, people would try to interrogate me. Everybody always wanted to know what I had seen, or what I was thinking, or otherwise try to pry into my head, and all I wanted was a shred of privacy. So, I figure, you deserve your privacy too."

"But Harry -"

"No, Draco. I was an arsehole. I didn't trust you, I didn't respect your privacy. And then, even though I was trying to be nice at first, I was patronizing you. And later, I disregarded everything you sacrificed to get us both out of there. I should have trusted you."

Draco couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. It actually sounded like Harry had spent quite a while thinking about what he was going to say. And Draco found that he had no good reply. Harry seemed to sense this, so he merely continued.

"You've earned my trust, Draco. And my respect. And my friendship, I think. And the very least I can do for you is to extend the same courtesy I would have wanted when Voldemort messed with me. Just a little bit of privacy, and some space to think.

"The way I see it, if there's something you kept from me, you did it for a reason, and I trust your reasons. So whatever you were going to tell me, don't. I don't want to know."

Draco stared at Harry. He'd been so set to tell Harry everything. About what had happened in the visions. About the threat to his mother. The truth about the Soul's Eclipse potion. However, as he stared into Harry's trusting eyes, he felt his resolve begin to waver.

"But Harry, you don't understand!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe not. But maybe I don't need to understand. It's been hard enough on both of us, and if you found it easier not to tell me something, then I don't mind if you feel you need to keep your secrets. I'm perfectly content. We'll get home when we get home. You can trust me to look out for you when you need it, and I'll trust you to look out for me." At that, he smiled broadly. "And now, I owe you one."

The last remnants of Draco's resolve vanished as he looked at Harry's smile. How can I tell him now? He looks happy. Peaceful, even. How can I tell him that there's a clock ticking down the last days of his life, unless I... unless I...

A sudden sense of resolve flooded through Draco. I'll find a counter-curse. I'll do it myself. We'll get home on time, but even if we don't, Harry will be okay. I can do it. I know I can. And Harry doesn't even need to know until I can give him good news along with the bad.

His mind spinning with his new purpose and justification, Draco managed a weak smile. "Okay, Harry. You owe me. So what I want is a nice bath, with running water, to wash away the dirt I got in my hair while I was fishing you out of that hole. I got positively filthy because of you, and the cleaning charms don't quite handle the job."

If possible, Harry's smile got even bigger. "No problem!"

Somehow, Draco wasn't quite sure he liked that response.

A few minutes later, Draco was licking the last crumbs of the oatcake from his fingers, and Harry had eaten his quince down to the core.

Quince. Why does that seem important? Draco racked his brain, but the answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. "Ready to go?" he asked casually.

"Sure thing." Harry's voice was impartial, but his eyes were still mischievous. He stood and stretched. "Ready when you are."

Harry held the core of his quince in his right hand, reached back, and threw it. Suddenly, Draco's eyes went wide with realization. He jumped up, and with a flying leap, he caught the core in his hand.

Harry blinked. "Wow, Draco. If you caught like that during a Quidditch game, you'd have beaten me by now. But if you don't mind me asking, why'd you do that?"

Draco suddenly realized how silly he must have looked. He glanced down at the remnants of the piece of fruit, lying in the palm of his hand. "Er... didn't want to leave any evidence we were here, you know. Too risky."

"Ah," Harry said, not sounding entirely convinced. Draco grimaced, but the second Harry turned his back and started walking away, Draco gripped an end of the core in each hand. With one quick motion, he snapped it in half. Several smooth seeds fell out into the palm of his hand.

Without another moment's hesitation, he pocketed the seeds next to the calamus root and ran off after Harry. The rest of the core lay abandoned on the ground.

*********

The sun was already starting to dip lower in the sky when Harry finally heard the sound he'd been waiting for. Grinning back at Draco, he saw the same look of suspicion and uncertainty that had graced his companion's face for the past couple of hours. The travelling had been pleasant enough. They'd made it out of the valley, over a small ridge, and (thankfully) onto much firmer earth. Harry had then led them both directly downhill, knowing that if they kept following the slope of the land, eventually, they'd have to come to...

"The river!" Harry said gleefully. "We made it."

Draco's face fell. "Is this where we've been going this whole time?" He shook his head. "Wait, before you answer that, tell me this: how did you know there'd be a river here?"

"Simple. Rainwater has to flow somewhere. And it always flows downwards. So," Harry said, trying to sound as academic as possible, "if you go to the lowest point of a valley, you have to find water."

Draco scowled at him. "Know-it-all. Harry, I think you've been spending too much time with the - I mean, Granger."

Harry felt himself start to bristle as he heard the unspoken word stop on the tip of Draco's tongue, but he hadn't said it. Harry could forgive that. It was hard to simply drop years of habits, and all things considered, Draco was doing very well. That didn't mean Harry had to like it, but he had to respect the effort. "Yeah, well, you and I both owe Hermione a lot. Including a dry tent to sleep in at night."

"What I wouldn't give for a proper wizards' tent," Draco mumbled. "I got one of my own when I turned fourteen, so I could stay at the Quidditch World Cup site and not disturb my parents."

"Really?" Harry was interested now. He knew he'd been amazed at the insides of the Weasleys' tents, but what must Draco's contain? "What's in it?"

"Well, it wasn't as fancy as my parents', of course," Draco said in a measured yet slightly nostalgic voice. "But it was large enough, I suppose. There was a pantry that the house-elves had pre-stocked with all sorts of treats, and a lounge for relaxing. The entry had the most stupid statue of one of my great-great-uncles, but my mother insisted on having some so-called 'tasteful' artwork in there. The bedroom wasn't as fancy as my room at the Manor, but it was actually larger, with an enormous feather bed. And the bathroom had a huge hot tub that made the best bubbles... Hey, wait a minute... weren't we supposed to be getting me a bath?"

Harry was too busy trying to close his mouth. Sure, he had known that Draco would have had only the fanciest of accommodations, but hearing him talk about it as though he merely expected such things... it reminded Harry too much of the old Malfoy. Harry shook his head to clear it. "Oh yeah, that. Hey Malfoy, was there ever anything you wanted but didn't have?"

Draco flinched.

"Oops, sorry, Draco. I forgot."

Draco tipped his head to accept the apology and said softly, "Yes."

"Yes...?"

"I wanted to be good enough."

The tone of Draco's voice left Harry's insides feeling cold. "You're plenty good enough, Draco."

Draco fixed him with an amused stare. "That's rich, coming from you."

Harry was about to argue back, but cut himself off as he remembered his promise to himself not to fight. Instead, he made himself think about what Draco had said. Really think about it. As he did, Harry's mouth formed a small "o", as what Draco had meant finally hit home. "Well," he said slowly, "you're good enough for me. Does that count for anything?"

Draco didn't move for a moment, then smiled a very enigmatic smile, but didn't answer. "So, about that bath, Potter? What's your brilliant plan? My hair isn't getting any cleaner, you know."

Harry breathed a quick sigh of relief, and laughed. With a sweeping bow and a gesture, he indicated the river behind him. "Your bath awaits, sir."

"My... what?" Draco's eyes went wide as polished sickles. "You must be joking." He took a step back. "I already told you, I'm not going in the river!"

"Why not?" Harry jogged to the edge of the water and stuck a hand in to test it. "It's actually not that cold. The sun's been warming it all day."

"NO," Draco snapped. He took a noticeable breath before continuing more calmly. "It's too fast. I could get swept away in it. You know, dragged underneath, unable to get to the surface to breathe. Not particularly interested in drowning."

Harry stood up, both puzzled and disappointed. "It's not moving that fast," he said, carefully injecting a note of concern into his voice. "It's not even really rocky here. Slow and deep. It's perfect for swimming."

"The last time I was in a river, I was knocked face-first into a rock by Vincent's father. I don't exactly equate rivers with pleasant memories." As he spoke, Draco casually side-stepped behind a small tree, almost as if he was using the thin trunk as a shield. He was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable.

Harry found himself quite bewildered by Draco's odd behaviour. "Well," he said, trying to sound reasonable, "that river was fast, and it was shallow and rocky. This is nothing like that. You shouldn't -"

If anything, that seemed to scare Draco even more. "I'm not going in the river, Potter, and that's final!"

Harry was completely confused now. "All right, all right, you're not going in the river! I got that part! Now would you mind telling me why?"

For a long moment, Draco stood perfectly still, not staring at Harry, but past him towards the river. When he spoke, his voice was so soft Harry had to strain to hear it over the flowing water. "I can't swim."

"You... you can't swim?"

Draco's expression went from scared to cross in an instant. "Are you deaf, or do I need to repeat myself? Yes, I can't swim!"

Harry stammered for a moment, unsure how to respond to that. He looked away, then back at Draco. "Well, it's probably no deeper than your waist. You wouldn't have to actually swim, you know. Just wade in and dunk your head and -"

"I SAID NO!" Now Draco was clutching the tree trunk with a white-knuckled hand, and his breathing was plainly rapid and shallow.

Harry had intended to bring Draco swimming so he could unwind, but that obviously wasn't going to be the result. Taking a deep breath, Harry made a conscious effort to relax his posture. "Okay, it's okay. We don't have to go swimming. I might like to wash up a bit before we keep moving, but for now, how about we take a seat, eat something, and rest. Then we can try to make a couple more miles by nightfall. How's that sound?"

At first, Draco didn't move. Then he let go of the tree trunk, and took a cautious step towards Harry. "Okay," he said, not sounding very sure of himself. "Sounds fair."

Draco kept an obviously wary distance from the river as he made his way to a larger tree and sat down against it. He immediately set himself to the task of digging food from the pouch. "What do you want, Harry? More chocolate biscuits? A pear? That pineapple's still in here, you know. In fact, it just bit me."

Harry wasn't answering. He was too busy thinking. Draco hadn't reacted like that the last time they'd been near a river. But then Draco had never really gone that close to the river, and Harry hadn't been trying to pressure him into swimming. He'd stood by the edge when Harry had been swimming, but that was at a little outcropping of the river which had been little more than a puddle. He'd stayed a fair distance away when Harry had been trying to catch a fish. Now that Harry was actively trying to get him into the water, he looked terrified.

"A pear sounds good," he said absently as he sat down next to Draco. A moment later, there was a pear in his hand, but he made no move to eat it.

Draco was just about to peel a banana when Harry spoke.

"When did you become scared of the water?"

Draco froze in place. "What?" he whispered.

And Harry knew for certain he'd been right. "Well, it's not like it was hard to figure out, Draco. But seriously, what happened to you?"

Draco turned his shoulder to Harry and suddenly became very involved with peeling his banana. "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it, okay? I just don't like the water, I can't swim, and that's the end of this discussion."

It's over when I say it's over, Harry thought ruefully. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Draco, I can't force you to tell me, but I'd really appreciate it if you did."

Draco finished peeling the banana, but didn't even glance up.

"It's just surprising to see anything scare you this much. The only other times I've seen you this scared were due to Voldemort."

Draco cringed, but busied himself with a bite of fruit.

"If you tell me, maybe I can help you."

Draco swallowed.

"Please?"

And with that, Draco spun around. His eyes were wide open, somewhere between fear and irritation. "You want to know that badly? Do you?"

Harry almost felt as though he'd been physically pushed backwards. "Yes," he said.

Slowly, Draco nodded. "Right then." He sat back, closed his eyes, and began to speak very deliberately. "The Manor had a swimming pool. Father had it put there so my mother could sunbathe, although she never did, and neither of them liked to swim. I think he just liked the look of the water.

"One end was deep... at least twice as deep as I am tall. When I was younger, I used to like looking down into the pool. It was a calming shade of blue, and I used to imagine there were mermaids hiding in there, somewhere. Well, my father kept telling me not to play near the pool, because I might fall in. So, whenever he'd say that, I'd back away, because I knew I couldn't swim. And he never taught me.

"So, one day, I was playing by the edge. By the time I heard footsteps behind me, it was too late for me to move. The next thing I knew, I'd been thrown into the water, robes and all." His voice choked off.

By now, Harry's eyes were wide. "How old were you?"

"Seven," came the quiet reply. Then, if it was possible, Draco's voice became even quieter. "It was awful, Harry. It was early spring, so the water was still freezing. It just came rushing in all around. The robes were so heavy, and when I tried to kick towards the surface, my legs just got tangled in the fabric. I was holding my breath, begging any gods that could hear me to get me out of the water, but nothing happened."

He took a slow, shuddering breath. "I have no idea how long I held my breath, but I just couldn't any more. The surface was so far above me, and there was nothing but cold water all around. I think I was just about to pass out when I felt a sharp pull, and I was lying on the deck of the pool, drenched and dripping, gasping, with my father standing over me.

"He said, 'I told you not to play by the pool, Draco.'"

Harry shuddered and looked away. He could almost feel the water around him, pressing in on him. How could Lucius do that to a child? Especially his own? Harry shuddered again, and looked up.

Draco had his knees pulled up towards his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He was shivering. His banana had fallen to the ground, forgotten. He looked so small, like he was seven years old again, and was sitting by the side of his pool, soaking wet, shivering and trying not to cry.

"Oh no, Draco, don't do that." Harry crawled over and knelt in front of Draco. "You're just overtired, and stressed. That's all."

Draco spoke into his knees. "No, Harry, it's not all. I'm sixteen years old, and I'm scared of the water. It's pathetic. Did you know I almost passed out in the boat when Hagrid took us across the lake as first years?" He buried his face against his legs. "I'm so pathetic. Scared of the water. Ha. Damn coward."

Harry struggled for something reasonable to say. "You're afraid of two things. That's not much. Voldemort and water. Ninety-nine per cent of the wizarding world is scared of Voldemort, and the rest of them are criminally insane. And yes, before you say anything, I'm scared of him, too. And you have a damn good reason for being afraid of the water."

Stringy blond hair flopped back and forth as Draco shook his head. "I had a reason when I was seven. I had an explanation when I was eight. I had an excuse when I was nine. I don't have shit any more."

Harry stared at the top of Draco's head, searching for something to say, or do. He felt awkward, like he should do something, but he didn't know what. Finally, he did the first thing that came to mind.

He reached out and put his hand on Draco's knee. Draco's head shot up, and a pair of slightly bloodshot grey eyes stared back into his. Harry swallowed. "Well," he said, "would you like to do something about it?"

Draco's eyes narrowed at him incredulously. "Like what?"

"We'll go into the river together."

Immediately, Draco's eyes regained the spooked appearance of a hunted animal. Harry dropped his hand from Draco's knee to grasp Draco's hand tightly, partially so Draco couldn't run, but more to try to give him some reassurance. In the back of his mind, he noted again how easy it was for him to touch Draco. At the forefront of his mind was a bigger issue.

"Are you crazy?" Draco made a lunge to move, but Harry only grabbed his other hand too. Draco hardly seemed to notice. "I can't do that! It's a river, Harry! I can't even handle a swimming pool. Fuck, if it's bigger than a mud puddle and faster than a leaky tap, I want to run screaming the other way." He paused. "I can't believe I just said that out loud," he said, more to himself than to Harry.

"You seem to like the huge bathtub in the Prefects' bathroom, right?" Harry asked reasonably. "That's as big as most swimming pools I've seen."

Draco's mouth fell open for a moment, before he shook his head. "That's different. It's warm. Feels comfortable. And then I sit at the side, and there are so many bubbles, I can hardly see the water."

"Can you think of the river like a bathtub?" As soon as Harry asked it, however, Draco shot him a look of such incredulity that he felt stupid for even asking. "Right. Stupid question. What about when we ran along the edge of the river to escape... you know, them. You didn't have a problem with that."

Draco snorted and actually managed to roll his eyes. "We were running in ankle-deep water. You weren't asking me to swim in it." He sighed and sat back, and in the process, pulled his hands away. "Look, Harry, I know you mean well, but seriously, who cares? It won't kill me if I never go swimming. I can live perfectly well being happily landlocked. Can't you just admit that you can't save every lost Krup, and you can't help everybody?"

Harry looked at Draco until Draco met his gaze. Hidden behind grey irises was an uncomfortable mix of fear and uncertainty. But at the same time, his eyes were asking for something. They seemed to be asking Harry not to give up on him.

"No, you're right. I can't help everyone."

At that, Draco's face actually fell. Despite his words, it was plain that Draco did want Harry to do something. That fact gave Harry the final encouragement to say what he'd planned to say anyway.

"I can't help everyone, but I can help you."

Draco's head jerked upwards. "But... but... what are you going to do?"

Harry smiled and stood. "I'm just going to walk you through it, one step at a time. No magic, nothing spectacular. Just... step by step." He held out his hand. "The worst that can happen is that it won't work, but if you don't try, you'll never know."

Draco reached for Harry's hand, but hesitated.

Harry sighed. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Draco grasped Harry's hand.

Harry had an odd sense of reverse déjà-vu as he pulled Draco to his feet. He smiled and gave Draco's hand a quick squeeze before he released it. "Come on, let's go."

He turned and started walking towards the river bank, and when he heard soft footsteps behind him, he knew Draco was following. He stopped a few feet from the river and kicked off his trainers without bothering to untie them.

"It's not good to take off your shoes without untying them first, Harry," came a voice close behind him. "You'll damage them."

Harry turned, and found himself face-to-face with Draco, who had been standing less than a foot away. The late afternoon sun slanted low into Draco's eyes, and he was having to squint to look at Harry. Even through Draco's narrowed eyes, though, Harry could easily see the nervousness and near-panic buried there. But he could also see that Draco was starting to drop his shields, opening up. The effect was startling. It was odd, but it was also... nice.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Harry said, "but they're just a cheap pair of trainers. Besides, I can't remember the last time I actually bothered to untie them. The knots are probably permanent."

Draco eyed him disapprovingly, but he didn't move. In fact, it was plain that he was stalling. Harry was trying to think of a way to tell him that he couldn't stall forever, when he got a flash of inspiration. Before Draco could respond, or even protest, Harry had dropped to one knee in front of him, and had proceeded to untie his shoelaces. When he stood up again, Draco's mouth was wide open in surprise. Harry shot him a lopsided grin. "That's step one."

Draco tried to say something, but it just came out as a choked grunt. Harry laughed. "See, that wasn't so bad. You can take them off now, you know. That's step two."

Slowly, Draco stepped out of his shoes.

Harry nodded in approval. He stepped back and was reaching for the hem of his jumper when Draco stopped him. Harry raised an eyebrow in query, and Draco replied with an unreadable smile.

Draco's fingers reached out and found the hem of Harry's jumper. "Arms up," he said, and Harry found himself complying without question. In one swift motion, his jumper had been pulled up and over his head, and Harry just knew his hair was standing in every direction at once. This was confirmed when Draco snickered. Harry attempted to flatten his hair.

"Give up, Harry. You've been trying to flatten it for years. Hasn't worked yet."

Harry could only roll his eyes in reply. "Your turn." He was almost surprised when Draco raised his arms over his head without hesitation. Harry paused and looked at him curiously.

Maybe Draco found it easier if someone else was taking him through the steps. Perhaps he felt a sense of control when he made a move, like a game of chess, each player taking a turn. Maybe he needed the reassurance of really letting Harry lead him. Maybe he just trusted Harry that much. Whatever the reason, he seemed calmer than he had been a few moments ago, if not happy, and that was good enough for Harry.

Harry took the edge of Draco's shirt and pulled it over his head, turning the shirt inside-out as he did. Draco's T-shirt got caught momentarily in his outer shirt, exposing his back and torso for a moment. He shivered as the air hit his exposed skin, but there was a tentative grin on his face. He took the shirt from Harry's hands and tossed it aside, leaving both of them in T-shirts.

A flash of uncertainty hit Harry as he realized where this might be leading. He looked from Draco, down to the edge of his own T-shirt, and back up to Draco. Draco nodded.

Draco's knuckles brushed along Harry's sides as he pulled the T-shirt up, and Draco was surprisingly gentle as he pulled the shirt over Harry's head. Even so, Harry had to readjust his glasses. The breeze felt cool on Harry's bare shoulders, but the sun was warm and relaxing. He closed his eyes, relishing the odd sense of peace he felt. Miles from anywhere, still on the run from Voldemort, he knew logically that he shouldn't feel so relaxed and content, but he did. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and looked at Draco.

Draco wasn't looking at his face. Instead, grey eyes were tracing the lines of his collarbone, and down his chest.

"Er... Draco?"

Grey eyes blinked twice, and Draco looked up again. Just as quickly, he looked away.

"What? I know I'm pathetically thin -"

"No," Draco said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You're not."

"Not what?"

"Too thin."

"Then...?"

Draco met his eyes, and in the bright sunlight, Harry thought he could detect just a hint of a blush on Draco's cheeks. "I told you that you've put on some weight, Harry. You... you look good."

"Oh," Harry said, not quite sure what to make of that. "Well..."

"Sorry," Draco said in a rush. "Just distracted. We were..."

"Yeah," Harry said with a quick laugh. "Your turn now."

"Oh, yeah." This time, Draco hesitated.

"Come on now. I've already got my shirt off." Harry respectfully diverted his eyes. "Or if you're shy, I can look the other way."

"Phffbt," came the response. "You're going to see me anyway."

Harry kept his head down, but raised his eyes. "Then...?"

"I... I just don't often take my shirt off in front of people."

Harry's head came up, and he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh? And how often?"

"Oh, a few... once or tw-... never."

He hadn't intended to, but Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing. The dejected look on Draco's face caused him to stifle the laughter, but he couldn't hold back a smile. He placed a hand on Draco's arm to reassure him. "Well, there's a first time for everything. Or you can go in with your shirt on, but that's not nearly as much fun. So you can take your own shirt off, or I -"

Draco cut Harry off by raising his arms over his head.

Once Draco committed himself to a course of action, he was determined to follow it through, Harry noted. That seemed to apply to everything he did. It was a powerful trait, and admirable.

Harry watched with a strange detachment as his fingers grasped Draco's T-shirt, which had come untucked from his trousers already, and pulled. It slid smoothly over Draco's shoulders, and popped away from his head, leaving his hair uncharacteristically ruffled.

Draco didn't bother to smooth his hair. His pose hovered between shyness and confidence, and he seemed uncertain of what to do with his hands. Harry, for his part, stood quietly, not sure what to do with Draco's shirt. Draco was no more muscled than Harry was, but there was something about him that just seemed more... refined. Where Harry felt gawky, Draco looked polished, somehow. Thin, yes, but somehow elegant, if such a thing was possible for a boy. Yet at the same time, Harry knew they were built almost identically. Without the heeled boots Draco had always worn, they actually seemed to be the same height as well. He looked young, exposed like that, with pale, smooth skin. Young and vulnerable.

Harry was still entertaining that thought when he felt Draco's hand on his belt buckle. With a squeak of surprise, he jumped backwards.

"I'm sorry!" Draco said hurriedly. "I didn't mean it like that... I just figured... I mean... oh Merlin, I'm sorry, Harry."

In that instant, Harry saw Draco's shields going back up. His posture changed, drawing in on itself. It was about trust, Harry told himself. This entire thing. Mutual trust. He needs to trust me, and I need to trust him. It's not just about swimming. I know it's not.

"No, Draco, it's okay. You just surprised me, that's all. I really hadn't planned this out or anything. I didn't know if you had planned to... you know... you can, if you want." Harry stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "It's okay. Really."

Some part of Harry's mind was telling him that there was something very suggestive about the slow, gentle act of unbuckling a person's belt, or slipping a finger under the top button of someone's trousers. There was something sexual in nature about pulling down the zipper, with its distinct noise, and the rustle of fabric as those trousers slipped down past that person's hips. Still, Harry quieted those thoughts in the back of his mind as Draco methodically went through those actions, his hands moving slowly but surely. Instead, Harry was intensely aware of the immediate experience, and of how Draco's posture became more open, more trusting, and less afraid with each passing second. Nobody had ever undressed him before, and never in his wildest imaginings had he thought the first person to do it would be Draco Malfoy. That didn't matter though. At that moment, nothing mattered except the person standing in front of him.

Harry was standing in his boxer shorts, feeling both very exposed, yet very safe. Complete trust, complete confidence.

And then he was reaching for Draco's belt. He glanced up briefly, and Draco nodded.

Harry had expected his hands to shake as he pulled back the end of Draco's belt to unhook it, but his hands were steady. Next came the buttons, and then Draco was leaning on Harry's shoulder as he stepped out of his trousers, standing in a pair of dark green boxer shorts. Harry dropped the trousers onto the pile with the rest of the clothes.

"Well," Harry began, "that's that."

Draco nodded silently, eyes still wide disks of grey, almost silver in the bright sunlight. He hardly seemed aware of how exposed he was. He wasn't even looking at the water. His eyes were fixed on Harry's face. It was as though Draco had stripped away the final traces of his carefully worn mask; the image and the ego had vanished with the clothes. All that remained was Draco.

"So, do you think you're ready?"

"No," Draco said in a small voice, "but I'm going to try anyway."

Harry nodded and turned towards the water. He had only taken a few steps, however, when Draco made a choked sort of noise. Harry glanced back over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Draco had clutched his forearms against his chest in a protective posture, and he glanced from Harry, to the water, and back to Harry. "I don't know if... er... I don't think I can... I mean... I think I need..." He stood up a bit straighter, but it only accentuated his uncertainty. "Merlin, listen to me. I sound so pitiful. Harry, I -"

Harry took a quick step towards Draco and stuck out his hand. Draco smiled meekly as he accepted it with a muffled "thanks."

Harry was the first to step into the water. The river bottom was a mix of sand and fine gravel, and the water was cool around his ankles. It felt so inviting that he almost wanted to run headlong into the deeper water without waiting, until he felt Draco's hand tug on him. He turned around.

Draco had frozen in place. "I... I just can't do this. I can't. Maybe... maybe we should just chalk this up to a valiant effort by a Gryffindor with a chronic hero complex, go back to that tree up there, and call it a night. Maybe you can catch a fish. I'll even help clean it if you want. Or maybe -"

Harry placed one finger across Draco's lips, effectively silencing him. Then he reached down and took Draco's other hand in his, firmly gripping both of his hands now. Keeping his eyes fixed on Draco's face, he made sure he had his undivided attention before speaking.

"Don't look at the water. Just look at me. Can you do that?"

Grey eyes stared back at him, unblinking, trusting. "Yes."

Without turning around, without breaking eye contact, Harry took a step backwards. As he did, he pulled Draco along with him, and Draco's left foot entered the water. Harry felt the shiver that ran from Draco through their clasped hands, but he held them fast. In turn, Draco's grip on his hands tightened, but his eyes never faltered.

Another step, and Harry felt the water swirl up past his ankles, cool and inviting. Draco's eyes closed for a brief moment as his second foot entered the water. An instant later, his eyes opened and were once again locked with Harry's.

Harry almost felt as though they were moving as one, like dance partners, dancing to the music of the flowing river; step-splash, step-splash. The water flowed up around his knees, and partway up his thighs, splashing the bottoms of his boxer shorts. Suddenly, Draco pulled to a stop.

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me," he said, barely above a whisper. "I must be insane."

"You're doing fine."

"Ha. I'm shaking like a leaf, I can feel my heart pounding, and every shred of sense I have left is telling me to turn around and run."

"But you don't want to."

"No." Draco paused. "Harry, I figure you wouldn't anyway... but can you promise me... you won't breathe a word of this - any of this - when we get back?"

Harry smiled. "Gryffindor's honour."

"I was afraid of that."

"Oh, you!" In one swift motion, Harry dropped one of Draco's hands, reached down, and scooped a large splash of cold water across Draco's exposed torso. Draco gasped.

A second after he'd done it, Harry suddenly realized that he might have undone every bit of progress he had made with Draco. He still had one of Draco's hands clasped in his, so if he wanted to, he could hold him in place, but Draco wasn't struggling. He was standing perfectly still, his face frozen in an expression of shock.

"Draco? I'm sorry, that's not what I'd meant -"

He was cut off as Draco snapped into action. Before he could react, Draco had pulled out of Harry's grasp, reached down with both hands, and had thrown a sizeable armload of water at Harry's face. Harry opened his eyes to see water droplets streaming off his glasses. Beyond those hazy drops, Draco was bent over double, hands on his knees, laughing hard enough to make him cough.

Harry glowered and shook his hair out. If it was possible, Draco laughed even harder.

"I thought you were scared."

Draco finally seemed to catch his breath, and stood upright. "I'm a Slytherin, Harry. I may get scared, but I'm never helpless. And I can't leave a call for revenge unanswered. It's a moral imperative."

"So," Harry said as he removed his glasses to shake off the water, "did that make you feel better? Less scared?"

Draco paused. "Well... I'm still shaking, and going in much deeper is not my idea of a good time. But it helps. Laughing, that is."

Harry nodded, and placed his glasses back on his face. "Now do you understand why I did it a few days ago? Running off for a swim, trying to have a good time, even though the timing was probably terrible?"

"Not to mention dangerous, but yes, I understand."

"I'm glad." Then Harry turned away and started walking into deeper water.

"Harry?" Draco's voice had become thin and nervous again. "Harry... where are you going?"

"To swim, of course," Harry answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"You... you're just going to leave me here?"

It'll be good for him. "No, I'm not leaving. I'm right here." The water was up past his waistband, and then up to the bottom of his ribcage. There, he stopped and turned back to face Draco. "Just a few steps in front of you."

If Draco's eyes were anything to judge by, he didn't think it was "just a few steps." He was staring at the water between himself and Harry as though it was the English Channel. "And... you want me to... to..."

Harry sighed. "If I take you the whole way, then you can't say you did it yourself, can you?"

"But I can't!" Draco blurted, somewhere between a cry and a panicked squeak. "It's cold... I can feel it pulling around me. I hate this..."

"Draco," Harry said as firmly as possible. His tone definitely caught Draco's attention, and immediately, two grey eyes were fixed on his face. Harry nodded in approval before continuing. "Draco, you've crossed miles of forest and mountains, and you're still alive. You crossed Voldemort himself, and he's a lot more terrifying than a few feet of water. You're still alive." Harry allowed himself an inward smile, and softened his tone. "You opened the door to my cell, and crossed those few feet to me, and took me out of there. These few feet are no farther apart than those. You can do this."

Harry wasn't sure when Draco's struggle to overcome this basic phobia had become his own, but it had. Right now, Draco's success or failure would be his too. Somehow, after every other improbable success they'd managed together, Harry couldn't imagine them failing a common goal. Looking at the mixture of fear and determination fighting for dominance in Draco's eyes, Harry found himself trying to will Draco some strength.

Suddenly, Draco screwed up his face. He glared at the river with the same face he'd worn when he'd been preparing to duel Harry in their second year. It seemed as though he was trying to mentally establish his own dominance over the water.

Then, his eyes came up and locked with Harry's. The glare melted away from his face, and his features became blank, almost hard. It was a mask, and he was using it as a tool to maintain his composure, but set in that mask, his eyes were still alive. The sunlight bouncing off the waves threw dancing splashes of brightness across his face, chest, arms, and legs, but mostly, it seemed to land on his eyes, turning the usual pale grey to silver. His shoulders rose and fell, and he started to walk.

The water crept up Draco's skin with each step, and Harry noted that he was shivering as each small wave engulfed a few more inches. His boxer shorts ballooned out as the water rose up underneath him. The waves lapped against his stomach, a deep shudder shook through him, and he stopped, barely five feet away.

Come on, Draco. You can do it.

Draco's eyes fell shut. Harry imagined Draco was reliving those brief, terrifying moments from all those years ago when he had thought he was drowning.

You can beat this.

Cold water pressing in on him. Heavy, twisted robes clinging to his feet. No air to breathe.

Come...

Draco took a deep breath.

To...

Grey eyes peeked open for a split second, eyeing the distance, then closed.

Me.

There was a flying leap, and a splash, and suddenly Draco's arms were wrapped tightly around Harry, and Harry's arms had caught him. There was a warm chest pressed against his own, and it was shaking violently, heaving as Draco gasped for breath.

"I can't believe I did it..."

"You did it..."

"Never knew I..."

"Knew you could."

Draco rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder, taking slow, deep breaths. "Thank you."

Harry stifled an urge to laugh. "What for? You did it yourself." He gave Draco a squeeze, both in comfort and congratulations. "You got us out of the dungeons yourself. You faced Voldemort yourself. And you made it out here yourself."

"No."

Draco loosened his grip on Harry, and Harry felt reluctant to let go. They stared at each other, and Harry watched the light playing across Draco's face again. Silver eyes.

"I have you to blame for all this, you know, Potter."

Harry raised a wary eyebrow at the sudden use of his surname. "Oh?" he said cautiously.

Draco took a slow breath, and he appeared to be carefully considering what he had to say. Finally, he pressed his lips together firmly, nodded to himself, and spoke. "I caught you in the first place because I wanted revenge for something you did." He paused again, as though struggling with the words that were trying to come out of his mouth. "I lost faith in everything I ever believed because of what you said. I completely changed my concept of power because of what I saw you do."

Draco was shaking, but this time Harry was sure it had nothing to do with the water. He took a deep, convulsive breath. "I turned my back on everything I was because of who you are. And I faced my fears because you said I could."

His gaze locked with Harry's, Draco gradually stopped shaking. His eyes were shining with sincerity. "Harry... there was always you."

Harry was barely breathing, and he knew Draco was aware of this.

Draco nodded, and repeated, "Thank you."

*********

The sun had reached the edge of the distant hills across the river, casting rich golden light on trees, rocks, waves, and Harry's face. They hadn't stayed in the river too long. With the sun going down, the air had begun to feel too chilly for the cool waters. They had dried themselves with towels Harry had transfigured, dressed quickly, and made the decision to set up camp right there... all without speaking a word. There hadn't been a need to speak, and the silence was comfortable.

The Invisibility Cloak had been turned into a tent again, not that they expected any rain. It was just for the enjoyment of having a tent. For supper, Draco had used his dagger to cut up the pineapple. Amazing how something that looks so unappetizing - even dangerous - can be so sweet. With the remains of their light meal cleaned up, they'd retreated into the tent, laying side by side, facing outwards towards the setting sun.

Never in Draco's life had he felt so content, as though he was truly in the right place, at the right time, with the right person. Just for that night, he forced himself to lay his worries aside, and just be. And it felt good.

He hadn't realized how much weight a simple fear could leave on a person's shoulders. He still wasn't comfortable with the water, and he certainly couldn't swim, but now he knew he could face it. He felt lighter, somehow. And he owed it all to Harry. Perhaps that thought should bother him, he supposed, but it didn't. In fact, the effect was quite the opposite.

Draco turned his head and glanced at Harry.

Harry was lying on his stomach, hands folded under his chin, gazing out at the sunset through half-lidded eyes. His mouth was curved into a relaxed smile. Draco watched, inexplicably captivated, as Harry's eyelids slowly drooped and closed. At first, Draco thought Harry was falling asleep, but then Harry took a deep breath, stretched his arms out in front of himself, and smoothly refolded his hands under his chin.

Draco found himself smiling. "So, Harry, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking that I'm lying on a rather uncomfortable rock, but I feel far too lazy to move."

"You're so -"

"I'm so what?" One green eye peeked from under a half-raised eyelid.

Draco could only shake his head in amusement. He quickly sat up, reached over and grasped Harry's shoulder, and rolled him up on his side. Quickly locating the offending rock, he plucked it from underneath Harry and dropped Harry softly. "Problem solved."

Harry, who didn't even look as though he'd been suddenly manhandled, sighed softly. Again, he stretched, reminding Draco of a cat, and rolled lazily onto his side, facing Draco. He propped his head up on his hand and shot him a half-grin. "My hero."

"And don't you forget it." Draco looked down at Harry, and realized he didn't like not being on the same level as Harry. He shifted, and a moment later, he was stretched out, mirroring Harry's position. "Who would have thought... a year ago... a month ago -"

"Nobody," Harry answered immediately. "Least of all us."

"You didn't let me finish asking my question. I could have asked 'who would have thought that I'd have eaten a pineapple.'"

"But you weren't going to."

Draco smiled. "You're right. Why do you always have to be right?"

"I'm not. I hazarded a guess. All you did was confirm it." Harry's smile faded. "I was really wrong about one thing, though."

"Oh?"

"I was wrong about you."

Immediately, Draco felt his face becoming warm. He tried to stop himself from outwardly blushing, frowned, and shook his head. "No, you weren't."

Harry fixed him with a stern look. "Really?" he said sarcastically. "Because if I'd been right, we'd still both be sitting in Voldemort's dungeon, and you know it."

Draco looked down at his hands, which he quickly occupied with plucking blades of grass, one at a time. He felt so ambivalent about this. It wasn't that he was proud of who he had been, but he wasn't completely ashamed either. Maybe the problem was more that he wasn't exactly sure who he was any more. His frame of reference had changed so much, and while he liked the change, it was still so new, so different. He wasn't sure if it was just his frame of reference that had changed, or if he really had changed along with it. Even though he felt content with his current situation and confident with his decisions, regardless of how misplaced those feelings were, at the same time he also felt hollow, like he was missing a part of himself. Then again, maybe he was just confused, and thinking in circles.

He was still sure of one thing: he knew who he had been, and that person would never have gone into the river.

"Potter, you know perfectly well that everything I did... back at school, back in the dungeons... that was me. And who I was is still a part of who I am. I'm not about to dance in the streets singing Dumbledore's praises. I still don't like Muggles and Mu-Muggle-borns changing the older traditions of wizarding society. And I still want nothing more than to beat you at Quidditch."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Don't think I don't know that. But I also didn't give you enough credit. Granted, you didn't give me much to go on, all these years, but somewhere along the line..." The smile faded, and for a moment, Harry looked deeply apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I actually stopped thinking of you as a person. I thought you didn't have the capacity to change."

"I hadn't wanted to change."

"But you did."

Draco gave a short laugh. "Again, that's your fault."

"Everything is my fault, in some way or another. Remember?"

Inwardly, Draco cringed, but Harry didn't notice.

Harry closed and opened his eyes slowly. "I just hope I'm not wrong when it really matters."

Draco tilted his head. It seemed a good opportunity to ask a question that had been gnawing at him since he'd admitted his own personal phobia. He just had to approach the question from the right angle. "Harry... I have an odd question for you."

"Mmm?"

"What are you afraid of?"

Harry eyed him for a moment before answering. "Well, lots of things, I suppose."

"Name one thing."

"Voldemort."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I think we already covered that. Congratulations, you're sane."

"Heh, the jury is still out on that one. Draco, is this to prove to yourself that I'm not perfect?" Harry asked directly, not being one to dance around an issue. "That you're not the only one with a fear? Because -"

"No," Draco interrupted, a bit more quickly than he'd meant to. "No... actually. I was really curious."

"Well..." Harry shifted in place, but didn't actually move. He stared off into space, and chewed absently on his lower lip. The fact that he really seemed to be struggling to come up something didn't make Draco feel any better about his own phobia, but Draco reminded himself that he had other reasons for asking.

Harry finally released his lower lip from his teeth. "I don't really like ants. One or two of them don't bother me, but they're kind of creepy when there are a lot of them, crawling all over the place -"

"That's not a fear, Harry. That's a natural reaction to a disgusting creature."

"I still don't like them."

Draco found himself unable to suppress a snicker. "Ants and spiders and snakes and other creepy-crawly things... you are such a girl, Potter."

"Hey!" Harry half-sat up, bristling with indignation. "Spiders don't bother me at all, and snakes are actually good conversationalists. Besides, I wasn't the one who squealed like a stuck pig when he thought there was a slug in his hair."

Draco felt his face redden. "Right. Forget I said it."

Harry nodded, gave a smirk of satisfaction, and leaned heavily on his hand with a contented sigh, but Draco wasn't going to let the topic drop. He was working towards something more specific.

"So then, what are you afraid of?"

Harry grumbled. "Needles, then."

"Sewing needles?"

Harry grimaced. "No. It's a Muggle way of giving certain medicines... they stick a needle in your arm and... urgh, I don't even like thinking about it."

The image planted itself in Draco's head, and he shuddered. "I think I get the general idea. See? Muggles are insane."

"Well, in this case, I'll agree with you. I had to get vaccinated before I attended Muggle school when I was five, and there were three shots. I guess I was supposed to get some of them when I was younger, but my aunt hadn't bothered. The first one... I didn't know what to expect, so I didn't react. It stung like a bee sting, and it surprised me, so my natural reaction was to get upset and refuse the next one. Well, Aunt Petunia slapped my face and told me to stop being such a baby, but when the nurse brought over the next shot, I couldn't sit still for it."

Harry turned his face into his hand as he spoke. "She grabbed me by the arms and wouldn't let me move until the nurse had administered the next two, but each time the nurse got close, she acted like she'd been shocked, so she jabbed the needle in too hard. I had no idea that I'd shocked her - I didn't know I was a wizard at the time. I was shaking so badly by the time it was over... we got to the car and I couldn't buckle my own seatbelt. I was still shaking by the time we got home. Because I'd misbehaved, I got to spend the evening in the cupboard. My arm was sore, and I was upset." He gave a bitter laugh and looked back up at Draco. "I haven't had to do that since then, and thank goodness for that. If anyone tried to do that to me now, he would find himself - or herself - hexed into next week."

Again, the Draco pictured the scenario, and couldn't quite stop the twisting sensation in his stomach as a result the mental image. "You know, I think I would have hexed her, too. But Harry, is that a paralyzing fear, or just something that you find creepy?"

"Are you really that determined to find out what scares me?" When Draco didn't answer, Harry grumbled, "Just creepy, I guess. I haven't had to deal with that in years, and little things don't bother me so much any more."

"So," Draco prodded, "are you telling me that you have no real fears, or are you hiding something?"

This time, Harry turned his eyes downwards, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. "When we were learning about Boggarts in Defence Against the Dark Arts class, in our third year, my Boggart turned into a Dementor."

"You're most afraid of Dementors?" Draco asked, suddenly remembering with total clarity the effect they'd had on Harry.

Harry scowled at him. "Well, I certainly wasn't afraid of you in an oversized cloak."

Draco winced sheepishly.

Harry grinned. "Actually, I asked Professor Lupin about that. His explanation made me feel a bit better. He told me that Dementors are the embodiment of fear, and to fear a Dementor... it's the fear of fear."

Draco pursed his lips as he considered this. "So, you're saying that the only thing that scares the great Harry Potter is fear itself?"

Harry smiled bitterly and shook his head. "Maybe it used to be. A lot has happened since our third year."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Then...what are you afraid of now?" His curiosity had taken on a new depth now, and a distinct level of concern. Harry kept himself so tightly guarded, and now, to see him taking down the walls... it was different. "What is Harry afraid of?"

Harry coughed, and Draco suspected this was covering another sound.

"I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of the responsibility I've been given, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I ignore that responsibility." Harry looked at Draco bleakly. "You feel like you were never good enough... but I worry that if I'm not good enough..." His voice trailed off.

"If you're not good enough... what?" Draco prompted.

"Everything."

Draco raised an eyebrow in query.

Harry sighed. "I used to hate Voldemort because of what he did to my parents. Then I also hated him for what he did to everyone else. I wanted to fight him for no other reason than the fact that I wanted him to die. And then... I found out that I had no choice in the matter... I'd have to fight him anyway. Nobody else... just me."

This was something Draco had always wanted to know: why Harry? He waited, trying to be patient, waiting until Harry was ready to say... whatever it was he had to say.

"There was a prophecy," Harry finally said. "When you think about it, it sounds so completely cheap... what a lousy reason... all this trouble because Trelawney actually had to go and make a real prediction."

Draco felt his eyes widen. "Harry, prophecies are serious business."

"Yeah. Tell me about it," Harry grumbled.

"So... what did it say?"

"In a nutshell? It's either me, or him. Ha. Apparently, I'm the one with 'the power to defeat the Dark Lord.' And everyone expects me to do it, when all I want is to play Quidditch."

Draco grimaced at the sick irony twisted around Harry's words. Harry was staring at the ground between them, the posture of a person avoiding something.

"There's something else, isn't there? In the prophecy."

Without looking up, Harry whispered, "Neither can live while the other survives." He snorted. "What kind of sick joke is that?"

The words rolled around in Draco's head as he stared at Harry's downcast face. "Harry..." The real question Draco had been saving was right there, on the tip of his tongue. And this was the best chance he'd ever get to ask it. "Are you afraid of dying?"

Harry didn't move for a moment, but his gaze finally met Draco's. His face was strained and tight, but his eyes were clear. "Dumbledore once told me that to the well-organized mind, death is just the next great adventure. I don't know if I buy into that idea, and I know for sure that my mind isn't exactly well-organized... but no, I don't think I'm scared. Not of death."

Harry looked somewhere past Draco's shoulder. "I feel like I've been living on borrowed time, ever since I found out how my parents died. When I learned that Voldemort was specifically looking for me..." He took a deep, slow breath. "I don't have a death-wish or anything, and I don't intend to lose... I can't lose... but lately, I've felt like there's been a clock, counting down, like my time is running out. I don't know how much time is left on the clock, but I can still feel it."

Something inside Draco's chest clamped down hard, and he couldn't completely suppress the gasp of shock.

Harry didn't seem to notice, though. The corner of his mouth twitched in a perversion of a grin. "When the time comes, I'll have to face it. And I know that I'll be as ready as I can be." His eyes came back to rest on Draco. "But in the meantime, I just want to be human. I want to enjoy life, for a change. I've thought about this a lot, actually. Sirius was miserable while he was hiding from the Ministry, trapped inside the hidden... well, I can't tell you where, but Sirius thought of it like a prison. He didn't want to hide; he wanted to fight, he wanted to live. And I think the happiest he was, in those last few months, was in the minutes before he died. He was duelling, and he was laughing. He was reckless, but he was free. I want to enjoy the time I have. Sirius would have wanted me to."

Draco had to cough to clear his throat before he could talk. Even so, he could only manage a scratchy whisper. "What happens when that clock runs out?"

Harry actually shrugged. "Then I deal with that when the time comes, and I hope I'm ready. I'm afraid to fail, but fear is Voldemort's strongest weapon. I can't let him use it on me. Besides, there are worse things than death, I think."

"Like what?"

"Being alone." Harry's face actually relaxed some. "I don't ever want to be alone again."

"Oh," was all Draco could think to say.

"Draco... let me see your hands."

"What?" The sudden shift in conversation was unexpected.

Harry sat up, and Draco automatically mirrored him. "May I see your hands? Please?"

Draco wasn't sure where this was going, and he wasn't sure why he felt shy all of a sudden, but he complied. He extended his hands between them, palms up. It was only then that he remembered the nasty set of rope burns he'd received earlier that day. His palms were still raw and blistered, but he hadn't bothered to heal them. Some masochistic part of himself had decided that he deserved it. He'd been so distracted that he'd even forgotten that the injuries were there.

Now that he was focusing on them, though, he couldn't help but flinch when Harry reached out and took his hands.

"Why didn't you heal them?"

Draco shrugged.

A sad smile ghosted across Harry's face. "You healed me of Merlin-only-knows-what, and you didn't bother to take care of a couple of rope burns?"

"I had other things on my mind, I guess."

This time, the smile on Harry's face stayed. "You said you'd show me how you did it, maybe. Will you?" There was no need to ask what Harry meant.

"Well... it was some sort of instinct, I guess. You were hurt, and I was worried, and... here, look." Draco reversed the grip so that he was holding Harry's hands, and turned them over so Harry's palms were facing upwards. His own hands hovered over Harry's, separated by a few inches. He wasn't sure if he could do it, but there was no other way he could explain.

Focusing every fibre of being, Draco concentrated on nothing more than building energy between their hands. He imagined warmth. He tried to feel the tingling. He pictured the glowing light, and the strange, residual shimmer it left. And there it was. The light was small at first, almost unnoticeable, but slowly, it grew. Soon, it was as though a shimmering ball of light was suspended in the air between their hands.

It was beautiful.

Harry gasped, and Draco looked up from their hands, and into Harry's eyes. The light from between their hands was brighter on Harry's face than the fading rays of the sun. Unlike the sunlight, it didn't seem to reflect off the lenses of his glasses, but went right through them, radiating back out as intensified green from his irises.

"That's... that's amazing," he said.

"Yeah, it is," said Draco, not sure if they were talking about the same thing.

Harry looked back down, and Draco's eyes followed. Then Harry moved his hands, slowly turning them and raising them. Draco mirrored the motion, and all the while, the small white ball hovered between them. When they stopped, their hands were raised, palms facing each other.

Then, Draco felt something change. The ball seemed to be vibrating differently, growing stronger. Before, the energy had only been Draco's own, but now, in some intangible but unmistakable way, Harry's energy was combining with his. Two distinct vibrations swirled together, humming silently, creating a strange harmony of light and warmth. Draco quickly looked back at Harry's face, and saw that it was screwed up in concentration. He was putting himself into the ball, if that was possible, where the energy was an actual extension of himself. Through it, Draco could feel Harry; that something that was familiar and uniquely Harry, but at the same time, completely alien to anything Draco had ever seen or felt.

Between them, the ball suddenly began to grow, and then change shape. Draco's hands felt warmer, but not too much. In fact, it was an extremely comfortable feeling.

Draco watched as the light moved towards his palms. It flattened out and wrapped around his hands, clinging to his skin, soaking into him like water into parched earth. It was a strange sensation, as tingling heat spread up his arms. He could feel it sinking into his muscles, flowing through his veins. It found its way to his chest, and then the world was wrapped up in the strange heat radiating through his body, and the green eyes staring into his. He suspected that it was all the same.

And then Harry pushed their palms together. Automatically, Draco's fingers intertwined with Harry's as a jolt shot through him. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a strange dizziness, holding tight to Harry's hands as if they were the only thing grounding him to reality. His heart was racing, and through the heat in his chest, he was aware that he needed to breathe.

With a shudder, Draco took a breath and opened his eyes. The light was gone. It seemed so dark in the tent, and he realized the sun had just set.

They sat like that for a minute, hands still clasped together, palm to palm. Draco didn't want to move, and he was somehow sure that Harry felt the same way. Although the light was gone, Draco could still feel the faint remnants of it, tingling in the non-existent space between their hands. He didn't want to let go of that sensation, but eventually, it had to happen. Finally, they pulled their hands back at the same time.

Draco looked down at his hands, and wasn't the slightest bit surprised to see that the angry red marks across the palms of his hands were gone without a trace. Not surprise, no, but there was another emotion there, and Draco wasn't quite sure if he could put a name to it. This was all so far beyond his frame of reference.

The tingling warmth faded away, and in its wake, he felt both completely relaxed, yet wide awake. When he looked back up, a different kind of warmth immediately replaced it.

Harry was grinning his quirky, lopsided grin, looking extremely pleased with himself, and Draco had to laugh.

"Show-off."

"And don't you forget it," Harry quoted him. He looked out across the silhouetted landscape and sighed contentedly. "Want to bed down for the night so we can get an early start?"

"I suppose," Draco said noncommittally. Words were somehow eluding him at the moment. He felt it was probably better that way.

First, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his counting stick, unsheathed his dagger, and cut a notch in it. It was his nightly ritual, and Harry hadn't questioned it since the first night. Sliding the stick back into his pocket, and the dagger safely back into its sheath, he then reached for the travel sack. He pulled out the cloak, enlarged it back to its regular size, and unfolded it. Harry automatically grabbed one side and helped to spread it across the inside of the tent.

Draco was surprised, but not shocked, when Harry lay down on his side, facing towards him. Not feeling like breaking suit, Draco did the same. He watched as Harry removed his glasses, folded them neatly, and placed them on the ground near his head. He smiled as Harry yawned, stretched, and curled back up to mirror Draco with one arm nestled under his head.

"We're a pretty odd pair, aren't we?" Harry murmured.

His face was barely a foot away from Draco, and distance aside, Draco knew that this was the closest he'd ever been to another human being. He liked it.

"We are," Draco answered. He still didn't know quite what to say, but somehow, words weren't that important. "We should sleep."

"We should," Harry said, but he didn't close his eyes.

Neither did Draco.

Daylight faded, leaving nothing but shadowy outlines visible under the bluish light of the half moon. Even though Draco couldn't see Harry's eyes any more, he knew they were still open. He told himself to fall asleep, but he couldn't, even though he was completely at ease. He'd be tired the next day, but somehow, that was okay. So he just lay still, breathing slowly and evenly, enjoying the unusually warm night and the soft breeze.

Finally, when he felt sure that Harry must be asleep, he felt the cloak pull and slacken as Harry shifted. The shadow that was Harry moved, and suddenly, he could feel Harry's breath against his neck, and the soft warmth that radiated from Harry's body. They weren't touching, but they were so close, they might have been.

As the stars drifted by overhead, and the moon sank below the horizon, Draco fell asleep.

*********

I swam across. I jumped across for you.
And all the things that you do.
And they were all yellow.

Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones,
Turn into something beautiful.
Do you know
For you I bleed myself dry?
For you I bleed myself dry.

(~Coldplay)